For Eternity
by monksmama
Summary: 150 years after Edward leaves, 149 years after Bella's death, Jasper stumbles across a new novel. Nothing is as it seems. Who is Eve? Who are the Guardians? What are the consequences of secrets not kept?
1. Storm: Warnings, a letter from Eve

**Stephanie Meyer owns all things Twilight.**

**I own nothing but an obsession for Twilight**

May 17, 2153

Dearest Reader,

Come, pull up a chair and sit by me. Locked in these pages you will find my story, my memory, my secrets, my heart, my life, my death, some things that came after and everything in between.

Can I trust you with it?

It is truly fantastic and not for the faint-hearted. Not for the realist, not for the cynic, no never for the cynic, only the pure hearted will find purchase here. Lend me your ear, your open mind and heart and I will pull you to a myth you dare not dream of, a myth you unknowingly live every day.

Tell me dearest, do you believe in Angels? Not as Dogma, not as testament to whichever religion bears your faith, not fairies with wings and halos. Can you believe in the beings of light, of strength and power that govern here on earth, the beings that hold all things in order, beings that guard your humanity?

Perhaps Angels is the wrong word, a word they would see with distaste. So we shall call them what they are in essence, the guardians. Do you believe? Can you believe in the mythical? If you cannot, this is no place for you. I'll give you a moment to ponder this. Please do not tread lightly upon my request.

As I have learned all too harshly, prepared or not, one can never go back.

Please, please heed my warning and move on.

My story is not a happy one. My memories will bring you no comfort. Even now, however many years later, pain always surprises me. How it knows no bound of species, no restraints of time or place, how it can consume so thoroughly anything in its path and take root in the very base of a heart.

For eternity.

At least my pain is not alone. Nestled just as deeply as the pain is a love that knows no bounds, no restraint, no passage of time.

A Love for eternity.

A relentless storm, a constant war of pain and love, feeding each other, growing stronger, until the sleepless nights I see the stars and wonder, how with all the limits of this existence, such a war can rage unencumbered for so many years and not consume me, reduce me to a pile of ash on the forest floor.

Ah, but now gentle reader I am getting ahead of myself. My memories, the love and pain alternatively, will come in due time.

You see, I have tried so very hard. Hopefully you will never have to know just how truly hard that is, to retain every piece of this story, my story, my life, my love, my history. I will try desperately to get it all right, to tell you the way it truly was.

I will change the small details of course, to protect myself, them, and him. I consider it my last gift to them all. Posterity and secrecy. Nothing less than they deserve or would expect of me. I hope I do us all justice.

I have clung to the tattered diaries of a school girl, the musings of an adolescent, the letters of a woman to her lover. I still hold the flowers, tickets and photographs, all the little keep-sakes of a life and a love that have withered and worn and turned to dust at my fingertips. All so I would not, could not possibly forget. But, all these things fade with time. Even my memory dulls, and yellows and begins to crumble with its passing.

This story, my story will have to suffice. Coupled with the ever present war of pain and love, this is all I have left. All I have to offer you now.

And that, my dearest, is what brings me to you. If you decide to continue, you will bear the burden of my secrets, my pain, and my love. My memories will live on through you. In some small capacity I am genuinely comforted, as much as I am ever comforted, in the knowledge that we all will live on in these pages and in your minds.

If I am being truly honest, and I owe you nothing less, I envision sitting on the docks looking over the endless ocean, over the towns and people and deserts and rain-forests and I know you are reading this story. Somewhere in the corners of your mind, in the heavens, in hell, in the worn pages of an old book in a library in Tulsa, we are together again.

And that, my friend, for the first time in more years than I will count, finally brings me some semblance of peace.

With love and gratitude,

Eve


	2. Understanding

**Twilight Belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**Not Me.**

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JPOV

It is supposed to be a novel, a fiction, an amusing way to pass the time. Not my usual genre by any means, but the attention it had received piqued my interest. It is supposed to be a best seller, a prize winner, a fantasy.

To my increasing horror, it is none of these things.

It is a history, a message, it is horrifically authentic.

I drop the book to the floor. More accurately it slips from my hands and crashes to the floor. I was powerless to prevent it. No matter how long the decent to the place under my desk. A feat to accomplish all things considered.

That alone is enough for my wife to take pause. But, it is the tidal wave of emotion that crashes through my careful control that sends her sprinting at lightning speed to my library door.

Is it really, could it possibly be her? Who else could it be? How did we not know? How did Alice not see? Have the others really not already seen it? It's everywhere.

How can I tell her, them, him? _Oh_ _god, how can I tell him?_

I silently thank the powers that be that we live alone now, far from the others. Thankful Emmett and Rose have Edward watch this decade. I need time to guard this, to hide it from him. Walls like that aren't easy to build and after more than a hundred and fifty years I'm sorely out of practice.

She stands just outside the door. Confusion, Panic, fear. She's trying hard to rein it in. Finally calm enough, she pokes her head in.

"Jas..."

"Call them" I cut her off before she asks a question I just can't answer yet. "_All of them, _bring them home."

"Jas.." she tries again. She is impatient, curious, worried and starting to get angry.

"Please, Alice, Please, I promise you everything is alright. Please, trust me. Find them for me, just bring them home." I can't do it without her. She knows this.

"Home where?"

"Washington" the right place, the only place for this.

EPOV

I sit in my airplane seat and think I'm going to be sick. Not that I could if I wanted to.

I think I want to.

I run my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time in five minutes and we're not even leaving the runway.

Washington.

Why in the name of all things holy did Alice pick Washington? I heard Emmett as he fought the same fight I would have, the location of this little family reunion. But, whatever she said had him convinced. He's been doing a fairly good job staying blocked since then, much to my annoyance.

To be honest, I just didn't have it in me to push. I know the family as a whole is still guarded when it comes to me. Not that I blame them. After the 'incident' as we've taken to calling it, in Volterra, I deserve it. Well, that and they're usually right. If they think I can't handle something, I probably can't.

So why do I have to be here now? Why would she put me through this?

I go back every year but no one knows, every September for the last one hundred and forty nine years.

At the very least I can still give her that.

I never stay. Never see the High School, Port Angeles, the Meadow all the places I hold tightly in my still heart. All the places that are ours and ours alone. I can't stand the thought of them without her. I never see the house. Ours or ...hers…

To the airport, to the cemetery, back to the airport.

The first year I was too consumed with grief to know better. I went to Charlie's. Charlie, bless him, hadn't moved a single thing of hers. And from what I could pick up, never did. Until the day Charlie died, a very respectable 43 years later, her room was exactly the same. A perfect shrine to his baby girl, our girl, lost too young, too soon.

That long day, I climbed in her window and sat in my rocker. I touched her clothes and pretended I touched her; I grabbed everything I could get my hands on. She would have touched those same things, somewhere in bends and twists of time I could touch her again. I laid in her bed a breathed the ghosts of her scent. The burn in my throat was then nothing compared to the burn in my chest.

I sobbed relentlessly and the hole in my heart ripped open with such force, immortal or not, it should have killed me.

On Alice's call, it took Emmett, Jasper and Carlisle to drag me away, fighting for all I was worth, before Charlie made it home from work. They took me straight to Alaska and finally released me under strict orders to stay out of Washington. Again, they are probably right.

Having proof of what I'm sure of now, that her things, her scent, her memory has faded from the town, her house, her bed - would be too much for me to bear. As they say: Ignorance is bliss, or at least Ignorance is my existence.

Now I know better. Follow the routine. Airport, Cemetery, Airport. It is my mantra for those visits. Variations are asking for trouble.

I haven't seen the big white house since the September that ended it all. I have a running fantasy of sneaking back and burning the damn thing to the ground. I'd punish it for still standing as a reminder of that night, while Bella stands no more. Esme would be hurt and angry, certainly angry, and that is the one thing that stops me. Poor Esme, I've already put her through enough.

Still though, the fantasy remains, the house burns with the fury of my heart.

Maybe I would be lucky enough to burn along with it.

_Didn't realize you were afraid of flying Eddie._

I turn in my seat to glare at a smiling Emmett. Really though, I appreciate the gesture and he knows it, anything to ease the tension building in my body and threatening to explode.

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We finally make it to the house in early evening. Alice has been here. The driveway path is clear. The lights are on, the garage is open. Despite myself and my irritation with the situation in general, I find I am almost excited to see Alice. It's been far too long and I've missed her.

Don't look at the house, don't look at the house just get your things and walk in.

She's waiting for us on the porch, her expression pensive. Combined with the fact Jasper is nowhere to be seen I find myself suddenly nervous. Where is Jasper? Why did she need us together? What has she seen? I catch her eye.

_I don't know Edward; I don't know what it is. He won't tell me. I can't see anything unusual. I'm worried. _

He? Jasper? This is Jasper's doing?

Carlisle and Esme pull in beside us. By the time we unload our bags Jasper is behind Alice. Rubbing her little arms and looking more worn than I've seen him. Marching cadences are going round in his head and the panic starts to set in. Jasper is second only to Emmett in not blocking thoughts. This has to be bad, very bad.

"Jasper?" I ask.

His eyes won't meet mine.

Carlisle looks to me but I have nothing.

"In the dining room please everyone. I have something for you" he turns without looking at me.

I cock and eyebrow at Alice who only shrugs.

We settle around the table and Jasper comes in with a box and starts placing a book in front of each of us.

"Jas, if I knew you were playing Oprah I would have just stayed home" Emmett whines from my left.

"Wait, isn't this what you were reading the other day?" Alice asked him "The one you dropped?"

Now she had everyone's attention and Jasper looked not the sheepish I expected but strong, determined and still singing those ridiculous marching songs in his head. We stared openly at Jasper. We don't drop things.

Jasper unnecessarily cleared his throat "I had Alice bring you all back for this, to see this."

"I'm not reading some crappy chick-lit Jasper, thanks anyway." He made motion to leave but one look from Jasper was enough to hold him to his seat.

I look at the book. Storm by Eve. The cover shows a single red apple in a rocky ocean, a storm overhead. How odd. No last name, another turn of the page holds my attention a bit better.

_For the Guardians_

_and_

_For Adam_

_I love you still._

_For Eternity_

"I still don't see why dragging us down here for a book club was necessary." Emmett grumbled again.

"I've heard of this", Carlisle's voice pops up "something about angels and demons I think, right?

"No" Japer said a bit too forcefully looking to the floor. "It's not about Angels, it's about the guardians" he muttered "It's about us"

We fell silent.

I block the confusion of thoughts around me, more intrigued by Jasper than the books in front of us.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time" Rose finally said looking just as annoyed as her husband.

"Did they get something right this time, Jas?" Emmett offers.

"No, no, you don't understand" Japer said shaking his head."It's not a book about vampires."

He looked me in the eye.

"The book is about us."


	3. Storm: Worth

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight.**

**I, unfortunately, am not.**

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The day I met Adam, the day that started it all, was a day of new beginnings in general.

It was my first day at university. The year, the place does not matter now. It holds no bearing on the story, so fill the details as you wish. I was an average girl from an average town attending an average university. I was filled with all the usual apprehensions and excitement. I remember thinking this was the beginning of a new me, a new life, all the excitement that had evaded me previously would be mine for the taking.

As I look back now, on that day and the perfectly ordinary years before, the irony is not lost on me.

It was an intro to sciences class. And I was late. Despite all my musings of the new me, some traits had apparently pulled through after all. I had tripped on the steps, dropped my backpack which had, of course, practically exploded on contact. After a brief chase for my belongings I was late to class. By the time I entered the classroom, to more fanfare then I would have hoped, there was one seat left. One seat, at one lab table, next to the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.

As I have told you before, my memories are thin and worn, dusty and brittle with age. All but the ones I cling to most fervently are murky and dim. The memories that I have closely guarded are not much clearer, like viewing them from underwater. But this memory is burned into my mind with a clarity reserved for no others.

To say he was beautiful is a blasphemy. Through all the time that has passed, I have yet to see anything to rival that face. Monet, Rembrandt, Picasso could do him no justice. His hair, bleached from the sun was in mussed disarray, messy but perfect and the color shone like the rays themselves. A perfectly masculine nose on top of perfect lips, his skin a warm rich tan, another gift of the sun. But his eyes, oh his eyes, a crystal clear blue, endless, omniscient and as I know now, a marker for what he was, the choice he'd made.

I say _was_ dear reader, because now, all these years later he is as foreign to me as he appears to you. I have no doubt he lives on. My heart, as traitorous as it may be, would not, could not possibly keep me going otherwise. I say that not of fanatical romanticism, it is my reality. I simply cannot exist in a world he does not.

So, I had walked slowly to that one seat, not needing to embarrass myself further, certainly not then. Not in front of him. He had looked up at me as I approached and those picture perfect pieces of blue sky met my eyes. He looked almost confused. After a second or two of blatant ogling on my part, he broke the stare-down and smiled.

My heart stopped, my breath stopped, my hold on the world shifted. It was heaven on earth in that crooked smile of his. And I was lost.

I have been asked, and have even asked myself; if I could have known then all that was to follow, if I could have saved myself from all of it, would I?

Would I have turned and run from a destiny none among us could have predicted, a destiny filled with the pain that consumes me, the emptiness that holds me now?

And then I see that smile, the smile in my thoughts, in my dreams. One of the small tokens of happiness I have left.

And I know the truth.

Buried down beside the conflicted storm that always rages is the truth no one would ever believe.

No.

I would not have run. I would have smiled and sat down beside him exactly as I had and endured every moment of pain all over again. Although it was far too short a time, he was worth it all.

Even now, I would sacrifice every happiness that remains to see that smile grace his perfect face just one more time.

He would be worth it still.


	4. Broken

**As usual I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer is the owner and queen of all things Twilight.**

**Dar, my muse for all things Emmett, this one's for you. You also own nothing, but Edward Cullen totally owns your ass.**

I hope you all enjoy this one. It was a bear to write, but I am finally happy with it. I know it's a bit short for some of you, but hey, I have a rambunctious 2 year old. Quality over quantity, right? : )

Thank you all so much for your reviews . I can't tell you just how much each and every one means to me.

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EPOV

…_.my story, my memory, my secrets, my heart, my life, my death, some things that came after and everything in between…._

_Can you believe in the mythical?_

_A Love for eternity._

…_..we are together again…._

_One seat, at one lab table…._

…_.in mussed disarray, messy but perfect……._

…_endless, omniscient and as I know now, a marker for what he was, the choice he'd made._

_I simply cannot exist in a world he does not._

…_that crooked smile of his…._

…_he was worth it all._

_He would be worth it still._

_I love you still._

_For Eternity._

The words run so quickly through my head and with such ferocity, I cannot separate my own thoughts from the thoughts of my family.

_I simply cannot exist in a world he does not._

…_.he was worth it all._

_He would be worth it still._

_I love you still._

_For Eternity._

I can't add it up, I don't comprehend. It's not possible.

Hope is the most dangerous of all emotion. I learned long ago hope has no home in the grieving. Broken hope is a sentence worse than death. I no longer believe in hope.

_I love you still._

_For Eternity._

I don't….she can't…..I won't…….

After an immeasurable silence everywhere but in my head, it is Emmett, of course, that breaks those perilous flood gates.

"What. The. Fuck?"

What the fuck, indeed.

I am out the back doors, and into the woods before the back of my dining room chair hits the floor. I hear them calling and block them all. They are now behind me, gaining.

"Edward, Edward stop!" I cannot discern who is yelling to me now, it doesn't matter. The voices melt together in the night and in my head.

But I am the fastest, especially tonight. A burning man with the fury of one hundred and forty nine empty years, running from the shock, the grief, the guilt, the self loathing, the pain; the never ending, inescapable, crushing pain.

_Oh god…Bella…..My Bella…_

The thought of her is enough to break my stride and bring me up short, which is just the opportunity they need. I'm hit from behind with the force of an avalanche. I turn before I'm knocked to the ground and start swinging before we stop tumbling. I don't even know who I'm attacking, nor do I care much at the moment. Growls and Snarls bounce off the trees.

_Edward!_

"Jasper, help him."

I'm too far gone now.

_Edward, stop it._

_STOP IT NOW!_

"Carlisle, stop him before he hurts someone!"

_Edward, son, calm down, you don't want to do this._

Oh, but I do.

I'm blinded by the pain, the raw hatred consumes me, I can't hear. I am running on instinct alone. The monster has been unleashed, a thousand times more powerful than ever before. I swing with wild abandon.

"Grab him!"

Suddenly I'm pinned.

With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I hurl them into the trees. But I'm not finished yet. I crouch, waiting for another attack, another chance. Jasper comes out of the tree line and I lunge at him.

This is his fault.

As he dodges me I hear a raw voice screaming.

"Lies, all lies, she died!"

I'm rather surprised to find it's mine.

_Edward, stop or we will have to restrain you._

Carlisle, I would like to see you try. Again.

I lunge once more to be met with empty air.

"How could you? To me your brother, your sister, her memory? Have you no respect?" Words spill from me without my consent.

I lunge again and mange to get my arms around him. I knock him to the ground and pin him under me. I grab his shoulders and start shaking. We're surrounded now.

"Stay back." He orders them calmly, which only causes my rage to boil over. "Hold Alice please."

I feel the crack as my fist connects to his face, once, twice, again.

"How could you Jasper? How could you?" A question timed to each punch, a mantra, over and over.

Alice is screaming at me now. Jasper continues to just lie there weathering my blows, not one ounce of fight in him, throwing calm.

"Fight back, you coward!" Make me earn this victory.

He looks up at me, dead in the eyes.

_Edward, it's her._

_It's Bella._

_I'm sorry._

_I am so sorry Edward._

And, it is his pity that breaks me.

I am off him and running again before they have a chance to grab me.

Farther, faster, not fast enough to outrun the shame, the pain, new and old.

_Oh, my Bella, my beautiful Bella. I could hold you again. _

The realization overwhelms me and brings me to my knees.

My strangled scream echoes through the forest. One hundred and forty nine years of emptiness pouring from me.

Like the worst of those first days, I curl into a ball, rocking, sobbing with everything I have left.

_Edward?_

_Edward, son, it's alright._

His arms are around me, and before I can find it in me to shrug him off, my arms are thrown around him and I am sobbing into his shoulder.

_They understand son._

How could they possibly understand when I still cannot?

I manage to shake my head.

_Edward, he's fine, he'll be fine._

Jasper, my brother.

What have I done?

_He understands, Edward._

_Edward look at me._

I shake my head again.

_Look at me._

He lifts my head up by the chin; I have no will left to fight him.

_Son we will find her._

I look into his eyes, they hold nothing but conviction.

_Edward, we will find Bella._

Can I dare to have hope?

"We will find her Edward, and we will bring her home."

Just like another night, a night in Chicago more than 200 years ago, my father takes my broken self in his arms and pulls me back from the edge. He carries me through the darkness, the fear and uncertainty and brings me home, to the end of everything I used to know and the beginning of a new life.


	5. Storm: Guardians and Storm: Lost

**As Usual Stephenie Meyer is the owner, creator and all around Goddess of Twilight.**

**I own nothing**

Reviews, alerts, favorites and even a few favorite authors! You are unreal. You humble me. I cannot express my gratitude. This one is for all of you. 

Below are two (2!) chapters of Storm. You're welcome!

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_**Guardians**_

I suppose I can go no further without divulging some of the specifics, some details and origins of the Guardians.

Although I must keep _them_ carefully guarded, I am not unaware the debt I still owe you. And in the spirit of that debt I will share with you every detail I can.

They are young. They are immortal. They are all beautiful, strong and quick, impossibly quick, both in mental aptitude and physical speed. They are gifted, extraordinarily so, beyond the merits of necessity. And they are absolutely lethal.

You see dearest, to be a Guardian is a choice. It is a horribly painful, selfless, impossibly difficult, unpopular choice. For the Guardians are, as a species, Angels of Death.

The vast majority of these Angels of Death, the brethren of the Guardians I will call Destroyers, for lack of a better term. Again, I think they would find the name Angel somewhat offensive and who wishes to provoke a Destroyer with names?

By nature they are attracted to humanity like a moth to a flame. They crave the essence of our lives. They exist to control our population, nature's most effective form of survival of the fittest. They were all once human themselves. Because of this or in spite of it as the case may be, they envy our never ending free will, as they are chained to the limits of their existence.

While this makes some bitter, hateful, and violent. To those rare few, to the Guardians, this breeds their compassion.

There are thirteen Guardians as far as I know. I would hope in the world at large there are far more, but given the nature of their species in general, I'm not optimistic.

Seven of them I still consider my family. As I have mentioned before, they are all gifted above and beyond necessity and their gifts are exclusive to each individual. Although it is hard to be objective, knowing them as I do, I believe it is other attributes that define them most clearly. I guess that is a point better illustrated. Dearest reader, I present to you my family:

Abraham 

Abraham is my father, the leader of the family. He is a healer, a man whose compassion and dedication is unparalleled through all of our histories. His faith is what defines him most specifically; faith in them his children, faith in humanity, faith in a greater power for us all. He sees the light when all others see darkness. And it is he who pulls them through. He is the compass that guides them. He is truly a king among men.

Abraham, you are my mentor. Your wisdom is ingrained in me and you guide me still.

Sarah 

Sarah is the wife of Abraham and my mother. A true mother's love knows no limitations and Sarah certainly is no exception. A nurturer, comforter, a pillar of consistency in a world of chaos that swirls around them, Sarah keeps them real, keeps them humble. It is Sarah and not the houses she builds them which is Home. It is her love that grounds them to the ghosts of their humanity. If Abraham is King, Sarah is his more than worthy Queen.

Sarah, you are still my home. I feel your love, even here, even now.

Rachel

Rachel ismy sister. Her beauty is unparalleled. She is the epitome of the beauty that marks them. But, it is her strength that defines her. If any among them, Guardians and Destroyers alike had reason to hate humanity at large, to embrace the nature born to them, it would be Rachel. It is she that bore the brunt of the very basest of the darkness and evil among men. It is she that harbors the most loss of her humanity. And yet, her will consumes that hatred, that mourning, that loss. And her strength propels her compassion. Even now, all these years later especially now I should say, I live in awe of her strength, her moral compass.

Rachel, I aspire to show your strength every day.

Samson

Husband to Rachel and my beloved brother, it is Samson's physical strength that is his most obvious attribute. He is unstoppable. His strength is eclipsed only by his loyalty and purity. Once his loyalty is gained it is yours forever. It is Samson, I have no doubt, that would be first to call me sister still. He is the most pure of all I have ever encountered. (I'm sure if he were to read this he would insist I mention that his purity is of thought, of action, intention and not by any possible means of the Biblical sense, so just in case Samson, there you go, I hope that clears things up.) He has no ill intentions, no impure motives; he is as genuine as they come.

Samson, your loyalty, your humor stays with me. On the worst of days you bear hug me still.

David 

David is my brother, the warrior. It is David's choice that holds the most sacrifice. It is David who was born to the darkness of the Destroyers, David who fought for his worth more than any creature in Heaven or Hell ever should. It is David who found the compassion, the strength, the hope, the light in himself and chooses still, everyday. David, who by random chance is straddled daily with the struggles of those around him. Where others would have crumpled from the strain, grown jaded and ragged and lost all faith, once again it is he that rises above. Above accepting his lot in this life, a man not of words but action, it is he that uses his capabilities to ease the pain of those around him.

David, your selflessness humbles me.

Deborah

Wife of David and my sister, my friend, stands guard for my family. It is she that bears the burdens most heavily for all that is to come. For all the responsibility she holds, she still radiates light, joy, optimism. It is she that lives this life with style. It is her complete conviction, her absolute faith and unwavering dedication that holds the foundations of them all. She is the encourager, the driving force that propels them willingly or otherwise, to truly achieve what they are capable of.

Deborah, you inspire every decision I make.

Adam

Adam, my love, my only love, how do I describe him objectively? How do you explain the other half of yourself?

I cannot do it. I cannot cast him in another light. I cannot see him as an outsider would; he is too great a part of me. So how can I share him with you now?

Adam is a light in the dark. He is beautiful, so beautiful it hurts to look away. He is the sun, he is the moon, he is the North Star that guides me home. Adam is every glorious thing that has ever graced the earth. He is the pure fresh burst of air, the crystal clarity of water, the fierce fury of fire; he is the earth that grounds me. He is strong, convicted, so much more than he ever gives himself credit for. He is brilliant but modest. He is self sacrificing beyond reason. He is the cadence of my heart: constant, unwavering, absolute. He is my strength, my will. Adam is my ability to go on.

Adam, I carry you with me, every step, every breath, every day break and twilight I keep you beside me for eternity.

_**Lost**_

Through my diaries, for those memories are long gone now, I learned Adam once told me I attracted trouble. I was a magnet for danger. I'm sure at the time I laughed, not denying the charge, and probably made a comment about needing to be protected. Harmless banter, I know I saw it as then, shameless flirting of new found love.

I can only now, through the careful reconsideration of too much empty time on my hands, see it for what it really was; the innocent beginnings of my unraveling, the very beginning of the end.

I know now, that from the moment of that existence altering smile when I was lost to him, he was becoming lost me. Lost to my love, yes, but also lost in the knowledge we could never be. Not in the way we wanted, needed. Our souls were joined in those smiles, finding the other half we had waited for. But we could never be; not in the lives we were casted in then. He understood as I do now, what we were: a lion and a lamb, an exception, an anomaly, exclusively unique, and damned from the very beginning.

So from that moment he was lost to me. Lost in my eyes, my love and lost from me, for eternity.

I see now, all too clearly with my old and jaded eyes, what he had meant in those words. To him, he was the danger attracted to me so recklessly. And I was his siren, singing a song he could not resist, beckoning him with the promises of a love he had waited several lifetimes for and he came willingly those few months. He was lost as was I, in all that should have been, all that should still be. But he knew in the recesses of his mind that our journey would end in nothing but death.

Although my younger self would argue I now believe that in the moment he broke my heart and shattered my soul, he made the choice I could not. He sacrificed himself, my love for him, all that was and all that should have been for my salvation.

I understand him now; all too well I'm afraid, but he was wrong on one count at least. It was never trouble or danger that drew itself to me. From that very first moment it was the extraordinary.

When my eyes met his, when I subconsciously accepted the unbelievable, the extraordinary (for somewhere I knew in that moment he was truly extraordinary) it unhinged a gate built to protect us from that we cannot comprehend. Once that gate had opened, I was a lost cause. From that moment on it was the extraordinary that searched me out, desperate for understanding, an outlet. And although I had accepted it, embraced it, my will was strong but the extraordinary is too heavy a burden for our fragile humanity.

In the end it was this, not him my dear reader, which proved to be my undoing.

Not you my love, it was never you. From the very beginning it was me.


	6. Notes for Chapter 5, Storm:Guardians

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight.**

**I am not.**

I would like to dedicate this chapter to the inventor of the Aqua Doodle. You are the reason I had the time to write this, and I thank you.

**********This is not a Chapter in For Eternity. It only contains notes explaining some of the choices I've made in writing For Eternity. I was going to make all this an end note but it kinda got out of hand. If you are not interested YOU CAN SKIP THIS CHAPTER AND NOT MISS OUT ON ANYTHING IN FOR ETERNITY, you will just miss out on 1,200 words of my rambling.*********

As always, thank you for reading!

.

.

***As a side note – the title of Bella's book, Storm is based on the song of the same name by Life House. I believe it to be the ultimate early New Moon, and For Eternity song. Go and give it a listen on you tube. It rocks.

By popular demand (okay so not really – only two people asked for it but I think it's cool so I am doing it anyway) I give you some history behind why I chose the names I did to represent the Cullens. I felt that the characters deserved more than just choosing names at random. And considering the story is set so far into the future, common and/or popular names now would not be appropriate. So like countless parents-to-be I turned to the greatest reference book of timeless names: the Bible. While I am a catholic by default, my Bible knowledge is sparse and rusty at best so I heavily depended on the internet. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies, and genuinely hope the devout are not offended by my selections.

**Carlisle – Abraham**

According to the internet, Abraham was a man of great faith chosen by GOD to lead nations. He and his wife Sarah could have no children of their own. (Eventually they did but that obviously doesn't apply here) GOD ended up telling Abraham he had to sacrifice his son. Trusting GOD Abraham goes to do it and only ends up having to alter him instead.

I thought all of this was fitting for Carlisle. Being a great leader, a man of strong faith and the whole sacrificing his son and having to change him really reminded me of his experience with Edward.

**Esme – Sarah**

Was the wife of Abraham, which is ironic because that is not why I chose it. She stood by her husband's side as he worked to become the leader of nations as promised by GOD. I was also intrigued by a reference I found that Sarah and Abraham pretended to be brother and sister while in Egypt to not provoke the Egyptians with her beauty, and protect Abraham from them. I thought that was oddly fitting with the charades the Cullens have to play for safety. Also, for 90 years Sarah could have no children, but did end up 'adopting' her servant's son. This is again fitting, because she 'adopted' all the Cullen 'kids'.

**Rosalie – Rachel**

Rosalie is actually the first character I 'named'. Rachel was the exquisitely beautiful daughter of Laban and second wife of Jacob. (which I just found funny) She was supposed to marry Jacob, but her father snuck her sister in her place. So she had to wait another 7 years to finally marry him. (I also found this fitting since Rose was supposed to be married as a human and had to wait for Emmett to really marry her true love) Finally, Rachel was unable to bear children for a long time. She had two sons, but died giving birth to the second. I thought it oddly appropriate, since the one thing Rosalie would 'die' for, or more accurately give her immortality for would be the ability to bear children

**Emmett – Samson**

This was kind of a cheap shot but I couldn't help myself. Samson was the strong man. One website claimed his name means 'little sun' which I found appropriate since I personally feel that his jovial personality brings light to the other more dark personalities of the Cullens. He was supposedly flawed when it came to women, which is also fitting. In Stephenie Meyer's outtakes for Twilight there is a chapter called 'Emmett and the bear' in which he says he thought he was in hell because he had a bit too much fun in his human life. My interpretation is that he had a bit too much fun in the lady department. : ) There are also references online to Samson killing a lion with his bare hands. It was too good to pass up.

(if you have somehow managed to miss Stephenie Meyer's outtakes on www (dot) stepheniemeyer (dot) com – you are really missing out - go read them now, I'll wait)

**Jasper – David**

Being one of my favorite fictional characters ever, Jasper was hard for me to 'name'.

David, the Biblical king was known as a righteous man, yet severely faulted, and a great warrior. He was a commander of armies and responsible for the deaths of thousands. His 'superior' Saul was going to kill him in fear but David escaped. (Which really fits with the whole army of newborns/ Maria storyline) Also like Jasper and Maria, David had the chance to kill Saul (his 'superior') and did not.

David became corrupt, eventually repented, was forgiven and lived the life of a righteous man of faith. Again I think it suits him. He became corrupted by the rage and bloodlust, finally had enough of it all, learned to regret all that had happened and ended up with faith in compassion and a peaceful existence.

**Alice – Deborah**

There are actually two Deborahs in the Bible and I chose this name for her because she shares qualities with both.

The first Deborah was a nurse, a caretaker. I think this fits Alice. She is always trying to take care of her family and catering to the needs of Bella.

The second Deborah is even more fitting. She was a Prophetess. Who could predict the weather. I mean, c'mon – how perfect is that?

**Bella and Edward – Eve and Adam**

I'll admit that I am a doofus. The whole apple, loss of innocence thing that Stephenie Meyer used in Twilight didn't even occur to me until the early hours of this morning when I thought about writing this end note.

My thoughts were more along the lines of Adam and Eve the first man and woman just as Bella and Edward were the first of their 'kind'. I also thought the idea of one mistake casting them from the Garden of Eden was fitting. Their one big mistake, Edward lying to her and Bella believing him is what ruined their own Garden of Eden and casted them into the cold, lonely world that I am describing them in now. It is also the 'knowledge of good and evil' that they both become so aware of that causes them so much trouble. Bella blames herself for this, by tempting Edward and being the ultimate reason for his unhappiness.

Finally, I liked the idea of casting them as the first man and woman because Adam and Eve were made for each other. Despite all the difficulties they cause themselves they are ultimately meant to be together, and I feel that way about Bella and Edward.

Okay, so, if you got through all that, I thank you and hope that you feel my choices were good ones!


	7. Letter

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of all things Twilight.**

**I own nothing.**

Are you ready?

Are you sure?

At long last I give you Bella! 

This one is for M and J, who share me, however begrudgingly, with Twilight.

**BPOV**

A cup of coffee, a homemade blueberry muffin, thirty-five dollars a month and another hundred every visit, forced and uncomfortable conversation, this is the cost of my privacy.

From my perch across the street in the shadows, bribery in hand, I watch as Joel continues his charade of closing up shop, ushering out his one remaining employee, cleaning the already clean counter, turning the sign to closed.

Midnight exactly I cross the street and head down the alley to the employee entrance. I take a deep breath and prepare myself; I reluctantly raise my hand to the door and tap out shave and a haircut. I'm not entirely sure the purpose behind the secret knock, as Joel refers to it; I know I am the only afterhours customer he has. I have my suspicions though, Joel fancies himself the 007 of the local Mailboxes Etc, whatever gets him through the day I, guess.

He answers the door with the usual grin and fanfare, ushering me in quickly and checking the alley, as if he really expects someone to be waiting there for just the right moment to force the door, tie us up, and make off with everyone else's mail.

I place his coffee and muffin in the usual spot on the counter and head to the back corner that houses my deliveries. A box and a half this week, a light load, I wonder if my sudden popularity is coming to an end.

Not that I mind either way, there is only one letter I am ever waiting for. I grab my boxes and head back to the front. Seeing him sitting there, shoving the disgusting muffin in his mouth like he has never eaten before, I can't help but hope today is one of the rare quick trips, I just don't have it in me.

"Not much this week, huh?" Great, no such luck apparently.

"Oh, I didn't need much" Forced smile.

"A…. You know, you could always just go get it for yourself, you know, just give it a shot. I…um… could go with you"

Oh, for the love of all things holy, Joel, not today.

It's not his fault my patience is reaching the breaking point. That the stress and the waiting is consuming me.

He is not really that bad. He owns the franchise, has a Wife and two kids in college.

He cheats on his taxes, won't pick up the phone when his mother-in-law calls and doesn't recycle. But he treats his wife and employees well, loves the Bears, the elderly father he visits in the nursing home every Saturday afternoon, the dog and even the kids that are systematically draining his retirement savings. I wonder if I should be insulted or pleased that I remind him of his daughter.

Most of all, most importantly to me anyway, Joel knows how to keep his mouth shut and look the other way.

I do my homework anyway. Always be cautious, be thorough, meticulous, do it yourself; trust no one you do not absolutely have to. Check up often.

I was taught well.

"Did you happen to give that Doctor friend of mine a call?" He says out of nowhere. Correctly assuming, I'm sure, that my silence is a refusal of his previous offer of a chaperoned shopping trip.

Doctor friend, right, I watched him Google it.

"He's a good guy, he has experience, you know, in your ….um….area…."

Joel thinks I'm schizophrenic.

It explains enough; the no touching, slightly off mannerisms, my paranoia with privacy, the weekly arrival of boxes are care packages from my mother, since, as far as Joel is concerned, I only ever leave the house to see him. It was a convenient enough explanation at the time; I just hadn't counted on Joel's incessant need to fix me.

If only he could.

I ask about his father. That always buys me a few minutes of non participatory conversation.

I nod and smile in the right places, add a word or two when necessary and quickly tuck the hundred dollar bill in his coat pocket when his attention is turned to a car passing in front of the window.

For some reason he is enthralled by this game we play. On my first real visit, after he passed the necessary test, I discreetly passed him a hundred dollar bill, a tip for his silence and accommodation. Well, apparently he didn't see me do it and got such a kick of the randomly appearing money it has become a highlight in his remedial existence.

As he drones on I find myself wondering what he would do if I put it in his muffin. I bet he would eat it before he knew it was there. He is exceptionally unobservant.

He always tells me the money is unnecessary, he would take care of me regardless. But I know better, as I was taught, nothing breeds loyalty in people like money.

Finally Joel finishes his last supper and we head for the door. He insists on walking me home.

Every. Single. Wednesday.

'Home' is not home of course; it is a small apartment three blocks away I have rented specifically for this purpose. Apparently a 'pretty young thing' like me shouldn't be walking the city streets alone at night.

If he only knew the half of it.

I know I indulge him more than social pretense requires, much more than I probably should. I want to stay safely in his good graces. It is not easy finding someone with the ability to genuinely help me, someone who doesn't mind a twist or bend of rules or convention.

But more than that, more than I would ever admit to anyone, more than I want to admit even to myself; with his curly hair, his broad shoulders and uncomfortable concern, he reminds me of Charlie.

After being left on my front step with my boxes, I wait until I see him round the corner and head in the other direction, towards home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ten minutes later I'm in front of the fire with a mug of hot tea. I love the smell of lavender and the heat is heavenly.

I stare at the boxes and prepare myself. Steel myself to the knowledge that what I'm waiting for will not be in there. There will be nothing in the boxes. Nothing there. It's not there. Not there. It's never there.

Another deep breath and I open the larger box. Envelope after envelope, big, small, white business #10, pink, blue, green, hallmark cards. The only consistency is the name and address.

Every letter addressed to Eve care of the publisher.

It is a clause in the contract we signed, via FedEx, of course; the only address for Eve is the publisher. All mail is directed to them and then sent, in unlabeled boxes to the PO Box that is in Joel's name, there is no return address.

Despite my desperation for the letter that never comes, discretion, my anonymity is paramount.

I flip through the envelopes quickly and move to the next box, reminding myself, as usual, the letter will not be there. I start flipping through the second box even faster than the first.

I would know the handwriting instantly, and as I expected, feared, knew, and still dreaded the letter is not here.

I tell myself there is always next week, that I am being impatient. I have waited one hundred and forty nine years already what is one more week?

I tell myself that next week, next Wednesday, the letter will come.

They will see it, he will see it. He will read it all and remember.

He has not forgotten me, I assure myself, I had to affect him, hold him the way he holds me still. He would not, could not move on.

He will understand and not see me differently. I will not be a monster in his eyes.

He will forgive me, forgive all of it, he will know the guilt and pain that eats me alive, the guilt I have earned every fiber of, is penance enough.

Curled on the couch in front of the fire, my tea long forgotten, I feel the beginning of that familiar pain in my cheeks, the back of my throat. I gnash my teeth together to keep it from coming, and give myself the same speech I have been giving myself in the early hours of every Wednesday since the first letters started coming almost a year ago:

He will find you.

His love, his forgiveness, will absolve the sins that stain your soul.

The letter will come.

It will come.

As has become my convention, I lose the battle against my pain and sob with what little worth I have left.

For just as every Wednesday before, my wounded heart does not believe me.


	8. Redemption

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight.**

**I only own a snazzy new mini laptop I write fan fiction on. (but no twilight)**

You guys rock my socks. Seriously. Your reviews are exactly my brand of heroin and I read them obsessively like the junkie I am. Whenever I am unsure about something you send me a review telling me you loved it. I can't thank you enough for your encouragement and praise. You make me cry, really.

So for you, chapter 7.

**JPOV**

He is off me and back into the tress in a flash. They all turn to stare.

To be honest I am just as surprised as they are. I did not think he was listening.

I open my mouth and feel the cracking. I deserve it, and I can't blame him. I thought there would be more damage; it was a reaction a century and a half in the making.

I pull myself off the ground and reach for Alice. Surprised she is willing, I take her hand and we start the walk back to the house.

The others are behind us, save Carlisle who is off to find him. I know they have questions, questions not limited to the display they just witnessed, but I need a minute. I have to get my head together; I know it will be a long night. Sensing this, or maybe still frozen in the shock of it all, they are giving us the space I need.

Rubbing my stinging, healing jaw, I am trying desperately to control the wild flux coming off of her. She isn't ranting, to my somewhat surprise, but the barrage she _is_ giving me is worse, and she knows it. Anger, pain, surprise, fear, annoyance, irritation, worry, more anger, confusion, frustration and disappointment; that one hurts, and then it starts all over again.

I know she is upset, and rightly so, that I did not tell her when I first realized, that I purposely did not decide to give them the books, to tell them the truth until the very last moment. I played with her vision and she knows it. But how could I tell her?

How do you tell the person you love the most that one hundred and fifty years of pain, of guilt and the useless blame she placed on herself, instead of on you where it belonged was in vain, the strain between you unnecessary?

How could I tell her that the one thing she wanted most, we wanted most, the chance to right so many wrongs is there, ours for the taking but I still can't give it to her?

Because there is more, so much more. So much she, they, and he especially still have not seen; things that make it better and things that make it so very much worse. I just could not be the one to tell her.

So Edward was right. I was a coward, I am still a coward. I am telling myself that giving them the book is the right choice, to let them read her words, hear her story as she intended. But the truth is that I simply cannot do it.

I cannot look my wife, my love in the eyes, look at my brother, my sister, my mother, my father, and Edward most of all, and be the one to break their hearts.

This is the way it has to be.

I know my wife, I know her better than she knows herself and without a doubt in my mind I can say that if we were alone, the second I told her, the second she knew Bella had not died all those years ago, she would be gone, out the door and straight to Bella. Begging for forgiveness and dragging her back. And I owe Bella more than that.

It is poetic justice in a way, that the book ended up in my hands, that the opportunity is mine.

She has trusted me with this, by default, but none the less. After all the times I have failed her, she gave me, us, her history. She told me her story and in turn gave me the task of making sure it is passed to them. To ensure they know the entirety, accept it, and understand who she was, who she has been and who she is now, before we come for her. I will give her this; I have to, no matter the cost. It is the first step in my redemption.

I will not fail her now.

I open my mouth to tell Alice, well I am not entirely sure what it is exactly I am planning on telling her, but something has to be better than nothing, when we hear it.

The scream pierces the silence with a pain that brings me to my knees. More than just empathetically, my heart breaks even harder for him in that moment.

In a blink she is in front of me, my face in her hands.

Love, concern, compassion, Love.

"He'll be alright Jas, Carlisle has him. He will bring him back to the house when he's ready."

I close my eyes and bring up every fiber of love I have for her, every moment of regret in the last hundred and fifty years, and every flame of blind rage in my ancient history. I feed it all, let it build until the moment I almost lose control, and pull up calm. With a ferocity I have never reached before, I push a tidal wave in the direction of his cries.

It is all I can do for him.

Thoroughly spent, I let her pull me to my feet. I wrap my arms around her and lay my head on top of hers. I revel, for just a moment, in this perfect piece of normalcy.

With a sigh I loosen my embrace and take her hand again, leading her back to the house where the others are waiting.

This is the way it has to be.

I will not fail her now.


	9. Storm: Fate

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner extraordinaire of all Twilight.**

**I am her humble servant (who owns nothing)**

Woot! My longest chapter ever! Are you proud?

How the Hell do you retell one of the biggest storylines in Twilight? I have no idea. But by the remnants of today I would have to say it involves ridiculous amounts of coffee, six cycles of continuous replay on a full ipod and endless phone calls for assistance.

I purposely glossed over a lot of the details, both for consistency in Bella's attempt to not give away too much about anything vampire related and also, you have obviously read twilight and know the story, probably by heart, so I didn't want to be redundant. I tried. I hope I do it justice, or at the very least don't completely butcher it. : )

For Dar, who lets me bounce so much off her, she could be at Wimbledon.

Although I am sure Deborah would disagree, having always been the master of destinies, there are certain chains of events that once put into motion we are powerless against.

That is not to say I believe in a concrete future, far from it in truth.

Primarily, I am unable to accredit a higher power that would predestine so much unhappiness for the ones I hold dear, to curse anyone to that life. I cannot live in the belief that the situations in which Adam and I found ourselves hopelessly entangled; the tortured, unfeasible love I had, have, for him, is all God's behavioral experiment, a trial and error, nature's cruel joke.

Most of all, I am unable to accept that free will, the very cornerstone of humanity, is expendable. That the choices we make have no bearing on our future, as it has been cast in stone. I must have faith in the contingency we can change our fate.

Deborah had convinced me of this much at least.

I will pause here for a moment to explain something I believe I have overlooked. While I have briefly mentioned the Destroyers in the past, I do not believe I have done them justice and that must be rectified before I continue.

While it may be assumed the relationship between the Destroyers and Guardians as a whole is an epic campaign of good versus evil, it is actually a much more subtle, intricate and almost respectful coexistence.

Things are, especially concerning the extraordinary, seldom as black and white as they may seem.

Usually there is no violence, no malevolence between them, usually being the pivotal word. The Guardians as a whole loathe violence in any measure and will avoid it if at all possible. Given instinct of their nature it is just one more example of their self restraint, their commitment.

They live in peace in a sense, interacting now and then and regarding each other with curiosity, a politeness that would seem peculiar now, ingrained from the times of their human births.

They are as a species, as far as I have ever seen, furiously fond of formalities and relate accordingly.

While their choices incur distaste, distrust, mild judgments and even the occasional taunting on both sides, friendships among them, the Guardians and Destroyers that is, while not common are not unheard of.

The Guardians highly value human life, but it is not a disregard for such that compels the Destroyers.

They see themselves as nature's handmaidens, weeding out the weak, impure, the terribly unlucky, controlling the ever growing population. It is only the perverse few that take genuine enjoyment at stealing the lives of men. Most view it as simply an unfortunate yet necessary conclusion.

And so they manage to co-exist, alike in so many ways, yet different in the ones that matter most.

Taking all this into account, as I was saying before my dear, there are some circumstances, some eventualities that will come to pass in spite of our resistance.

While I consider an innocent slip on the steps of an old university, that seemingly random moment in time that lead to my love of Adam, the first of these inescapable conjunctures there is another, a darker, more damning series that must be shared with you now.

As these things always seem to begin, it was an ordinary day, well, as ordinary a day ever was with them. We were light hearted, immersed in games, free in the rare and blissful moments of traditional past times.

Destroyers were coming, of this we were aware.

They were to be merely curious; the choice of the Guardians such a rare occurrence, they are still considered a myth among the mythical. The visitors could not pass the opportunity to rest, weary from travel and gain proof of the oddity for themselves.

They had come sooner than we expected. Given the proper time to prepare, I'm sure I would have been hidden away, guarded. Not that we expected trouble, simply as precaution, given the inconsistency of their temperaments as a species, one never knows.

When my mind wanders, as it is prone to do these days, I can't help but wonder how my story would have changed if I had been absent that fateful day. I have no doubt the ultimate end would be the same, but I find myself preoccupied by the notion the path may have been different.

It is the could have been that haunts my sleepless nights.

But alas, what has been cannot be undone.

And so it came to be, that fateful and ordinary day, destiny came to stake its second claim on me, in the form of the three Destroyers:

Astaroth, Belial and Lilith.

There was a formal greeting of course. Manners are never forsaken, despite tense circumstances. During these pleasantries I was hidden to the best of their abilities in an inconveniently open field. But it was of no use.

These particular Destroyers earn that name. They thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of their lot, seeing the loss of human life as a challenge, a pure pleasure. A very unfortunate circumstance for me.

They were filthy, less civilized in general and more prone to instinct alone. It is the latter that made them more dangerous than we had ever anticipated. Met by the proof of their eyes, the Destroyers were offended from the very beginning, simply by the choice the Guardians had made. They saw it as an affront to the species in general; that the Guardians would see themselves so superior they could not fulfill the simple tasks entrusted to their kind.

A simple shift of the wind sent the wheels of fate in motion.

My unfortunately human scent reached our guests instantly. Although Astaroth had done his best to disguise it, a red flag had been waved, a delicious challenge had presented itself and he was more than game.

Claims were made, stakes were raised and before I was entirely sure what had happened, I was running for my life.

After a hasty plan had been made, a goodbye to Adam that is forever etched in my mind, David and Deborah whisked me away to assumed safety and the remainder of my family was off to pay the price of my humanity, my love and obsession for them in a fight to the death.

There are few words to describe the entirety of emotion that consumed me those next few days, but I have no doubt David could find them.

Although I see quite clearly now just how misguided my concerns, I was only mildly aware of the fear for the monster coming for me. The majority of my awareness was consumed with fear for my family, for Adam. And guilt, overwhelming guilt of the burden I had placed on all of them. Creating the situation that gave them no choice but to risk their lives for mine. And while they had assured me repeatedly my fear for them unfounded, even if they were victorious as they had promised, it would be at the expense of their convictions. Violence and death was the inevitable result and either way there would be blood on their hands, because of me.

Astaroth had escaped the plan they had arranged for him. Having him loose was too great a concern. Adam was coming for me, coming to find an even greater seclusion. I was no longer secure in my current location, so Adam would be burdened with my safety and Deborah and David would take his place in the fight.

And then I was presented with an opportunity, a ridiculous, dangerous, and as I know now, selfish opportunity. I could end this game on my terms; sacrifice myself in exchange for them. I could let them continue on, morals intact as if I had never entered their lives and created so much upheaval. I could give them back everything I had stolen from them and end the madness. As I had believed then, the opportunity was mine; I could give my life for his.

So in an incredibly misguided and thoroughly unconsidered attempt at valiancy, a nonsensical sacrifice based on my love, I took it.

With a stroke of blind luck I was able to evade my Guardians, and in an act of treason that shames me still, I ran out into the unknown to face my destiny.

There is an odd peaceful feeling that comes in facing a certain death. When you know the inevitable conclusion is the very worst you can imagine, there is no place left for fear. It is simply an acceptance of what is to come and a freedom from all else.

Those last moments of peaceful freedom, as I sprinted wildly towards fate, I thought of Adam. I relieved every glorious memory he had given me. And I was content. Whatever was to come ( and although I was certainly naïve I was not so naïve to believe my death would not be involved) I was contented in the knowledge that I had, in only a few months lived the very best life had to offer.

I learned later my defection was very quickly noted and following my obvious trail they were not far behind me. Cursing me and my stupidity, I'm sure, and praying for all they were worth they would not be too late to save me from myself.

The hunter had more planned for me than I had hoped. In place of the quick and mostly painless death I had been counting on, I was to bear the brunt of his annoyance with the Guardians and humanity in general. I certainly did myself no favors in a few fruitless attempts at running from him. Apparently I do have a survival instinct; it is just buried deep and dangerously sporadic.

Just as I was about to succumb to him completely, my Guardians had come.

The memories I have of the rest of that day are murky at best, or entirely absent. I know from my diaries that I had not only been severely injured, but Astaroth had, in a last ditch effort at a posthumous victory, for he was being dragged away from me at the time, attempted to claim me, to mark me as one of them.

In a moment of incredible self restraint, for which I am still proud, Adam saved me a second time.

There was a stay in the hospital of course, a long road to recovery and more lies and half truths than I could remember even at the time. But the threat had passed and we had all survived, even despite me.

And save one, the breaks and scars on my body had healed and faded and although never the same, our lives continued.

Covertly, the wheels of fate were still turning.

I cannot relive these horrors, these harsh remembrances of the game we unwillingly played and barely won, without automatically seeing another vision. For the best I can guess they must follow closely chronologically to be so linked in my memory. This is a bittersweet piece of Heaven I carry with me.

A young girl, a blue dress, flowers in her hair and love in her eyes is held in his perfect arms. The crooked smile that owns her heart on his lips, she is home.

For a few precious moments she is just a girl, and he is just a boy, nothing between them but love. The future stretches out endlessly in front of them, a promise, a ring, a white picket fence, two beautiful blonde babies, grey hair on a porch swing surrounded by grandchildren, a gentle goodnight after lives well lived, an eternity in heaven.

They twirl under the stars, lost in the borrowed hope of the impossible, blissfully unaware the end of the world is just around the corner.

**Chapter End Notes**

The names of James, Victoria and Laurent were found on Wiki. Because they suck I named them after demons. It thought the ones I chose were fitting per the descriptions on Wiki. I listed them below for your amusement. I did about 5 minutes of research for this, so if I am missing something obvious in demonic mythology, or I offend anyone with this inclusion I apologize. It was not by any means my intent and I seriously didn't know better.

Dena

**Victoria – Lilith:** Translated from which ever language it was found in means "female night being/demon". She is also referred to as a princess of Hell. (yup, that covers her alright)

**James – Astaroth:** I picked this one because it is said he had assistant demons, I thought that was fitting. He also was supposedly a master of seduction through laziness and vanity, and a fan of creating his own philosophies. (also pretty fitting as far as I'm concerned) A Prince of Hell.

**Laurent – Belial:** Another prince of Hell (how many princes do they need down there?) It means without worth (check). He is a fallen Angel of confusion (check). He is supposed to be very respectful, but a demon of lies and guilt (check, check and check)

If you are interested I can go back to Storm: Guardians and add a footnote explaining the Biblical names I chose for the Cullens. Let me know. I thought it was an interesting detail, but I won't go to the trouble if no one wants to read it.


	10. Loyalty

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight.**

**I only own an ipod touch I want to marry and a palm centro I don't know how to work.(and no Twilight)**

**EPOV**

What have I done? Is there no end to the suffering I cause?

I am sitting on the rocks by the river, my head in my hands as I try desperately to make sense of it all.

Where is she? What is she? After a century and a half, how could she have never come to us? Even if she had believed me then, she said she still loves us.

She said she loved me.

How could she still love me, any of us, after all I had done to her?

Why would she not have searched us out? How could she not come back to me? Could she have looked and not found us?

The unreasonable anger starts to edge back into my mind. How could she have let me suffer through her death for more than a hundred years and never sent word? Was that penance for my deception? A hundred and fifty years of unbearable suffering? No, that was never her. She would never intentionally hurt anyone, no matter how badly they deserve it.

And, I certainly deserve it.

So why?

Through her century and a half of silence it is undeniably clear she wanted nothing to do with us, especially me. She could have easily gone another hundred and fifty years and we never would have known she existed. So why would she write a book? Tell us in her own words how much we meant to her, mean to her still. Is it truly the message to me I am determining it to be? What else could it be? Why now?

She still loves us.

She said it herself.

Why else would she make it so obvious to us, to me that it was her? Why would she write of our love, of our story if she didn't want to be found? She has to know me well enough to know the moment I realized she had not died I would stop at nothing to find her.

But she let us believe she was dead. What is it that she wants?

Seeing firsthand the pain we inflicted on her, seeing into her mind as I had dreamed of doing so many times and I understand her even less for it. The irony is not lost on me.

But, she still loves us.

How, I have no idea, I have never deserved anything less.

I have to find her. I have no choice. Her intentions, her desires matter so much less to me now than they probably should. I need her.

From that very first page, from the words _I love you still_, my path was set. I have no other options. I have to see her, feel her in my own hands and know she is real. I have to hold her even if it is just one more time. I have to get on my knees before her and beg her forgiveness. I have to tell her I have loved her every single day for one hundred and fifty years. Tell her I love her more with every moment that passes and I am nothing without her. I have to tell her the day she 'died' I died beside her. I have to tell her every single thing I had never had the chance to say, all the things I had wished for the impossible opportunity to admit. I have to beg her to take me back, offer her anything, everything for just one more chance.

Now that I have the chance to win her back, under impossible, unbelievable circumstances I cannot ever let her go again.

Could she possibly ask me to?

Is this my chance for redemption, my one remaining miraculous shot at my heaven? Or is this nothing more than her closure? Her final goodbye to us, her goodbye to me and all that we were, all we should be still?

_Edward?_

I hear him call to me cautiously. I turn to see him with his hands raised in a show of submission as he nears me on the river bank.

I bow my head in my newly earned shame as he approaches.

"Jasper," I whisper, my head still in my hands. "I am so incredibly sorry. That was unforgivable. I don't know what came over me I just.."

He holds up a hand to silence me.

"It is I that should be asking your forgiveness." He says aloud to illustrate his sincerity.

I'm sure he feels my confusion, but says nothing as he sits beside me, staring across the river.

_I didn't know how to tell you Edward. I swear I had Alice call you all the moment I realized it was her. I thought it would be best to have everyone around if you needed them. I'm sorry Edward, I am so sorry for everything. Alice never saw her, never saw anything about her, we had no idea. I swear to you if we had known, if I had the slightest idea…_

"You know I have never blamed you for anything, Jasper." I cut him off and turn to meet his eyes. "Alice too, none of this was ever your fault. You know that. It is mine and only mine, it has always been mine."

"No, Edward. This belongs to all of us." He counters, and turns his eyes back to the river.

It is a heated debate we have had in many incarnations through the years. I know too well the burden he has carried. I have tried so many times to relieve him, we all have. It was not his fault and everyone see it but him. I sigh, knowing the conversation will get us nowhere. It never does.

We sit in silence a while longer.

_Carlisle is making some calls, seeing if anyone has heard of her, if anyone knows anything._

He almost seemed to hesitate, perhaps waiting for me to lose my mind again at the mention of her. The shame washes over me again as I remember what I did to him, but I say nothing. He can feel it. I'm sure he knows why.

"He told me he would, anything yet?" I ask softly, not wanting the answer I know I'll be receiving.

_No, but that means nothing Edward, you know we'll find her._

I nod unable to say anything else.

_Are you coming back inside?_

"Soon," I manage to choke out. I know there is so much for us to still do.

_Are you alright Edward? I know it's a lot to take in._

I look back to the river and let myself think of finding her; of seeing her smile, touching her sweet face, claiming the ghost from my past.

"I will be, Jas" I whisper. "I will be."

**BPOV**

I lost count sometime after the first half century, of just how often I thought of finding them. As it stands now I actually have caved to the temptation a mere 39 times. Not bad when you consider I had a century and a half of battling the desire.

I remember their concerns once for trackers. Never having been in proximity of one, the skill evades me, but I find it almost comical how unnecessary it would be. Carlisle's gravitation towards all things human makes him more visible than most. Knowing the names they use certainly doesn't hurt either. Dr. Carlisle Cullen or Whitlock or Hale, McCarty, Brandon or ………Masen, medical licensing records, hospital directories, a few clicks through Google and they were at my fingertips. Rochester, Anchorage, London, a new home every few years, of course. Through the glory of the internet and my obsession I have followed them around the world.

The school records were never hard to locate, perfect four-point-ohs, no extracurricular activities. Yearbooks could be a bit trickier, but still possible. Senior superlatives no one else would ever understand, missing on picture day, out hiking of course. Always bold letters covering the empty grey boxes 'unavailable for photo'.

Unavailable, how ironically fitting.

I tell myself I do it as a precaution. I cannot imagine the damage if I were to randomly run into them one day on the street. I have to know where they are to make sure I am always on the other end of the country, continent, even the world. As I was taught, one can never be too careful, too prepared. I am only doing what I have to, protecting myself, them, everyone in proximity. Move when they move, to one of the cities they recently left.

But I know as well as my traitorous heart, I just need proof they are out there somewhere, that they are together, the same as I remember them.

I have to know some things haven't changed.

In one hundred and fifty years, almost a hundred of them spent searching them out or convincing myself not to, I have found only one photo. One I'm sure, they somehow must not have known about. And while I can't imagine how, I thank god for it.

I had sobbed for weeks when I had found it. My family, the proof in my hands they were real.

They are in the background, the five of them at a round cafeteria table. Looking so much like an old and murky memory it steals my breath.

Years I have spent boring holes in that picture. Rosalie and Emmett engaged in conversation, Alice and Jasper leaning into each other, his head against hers. She is supporting him I'm sure, holding him to his seat in more ways than one. But to an outsider it is nothing but a random moment of love, captured for high school propriety.

Edward, my Edward, my Adam, my love, his back is to the camera and for this I am grateful. Seeing his face, the smile that still owns every piece of me, second hand; knowing that bronze mess is no longer mine to run my hands through, his jaw line not mine to trace, the golden eyes no longer studying my expression and giving away just how frustrated he always was with the silence, it would be too much for me to bear. I would be on that plane to Rochester, Anchorage, or London in the span of a human heartbeat. And I would ruin everything. The illusions I cling to so passionately, the denial that keeps me going, everything would be shattered and I would be thoroughly destroyed.

The vacant chair by Edward does not escape my notice. A table for six not five, it mocks me; a chair, a stupid, plastic, institutional lunchroom chair. How many days and nights have I lost to that chair? My chair standing next to Edward, as empty as I am without him.

I should be in that seat, buried in the camaraderie, holding his hand under the table and silently laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole charade, sitting among my family.

And yet, here I am in a seat thousands of miles and a hundred and fifty years away. So different, yet so much the same as before, trying desperately to cling to that which was never really mine. I am on the peripheral, on the outside gazing longingly at those I consider my family and knowing just as much as I ever have that I do not truly belong among them.

My seat will always be empty.

While breaks my heart all over again to see, It brings me nearly as much happiness as it does pain. I cannot let myself lose this memory. This piece of them is all I have left. Each and every copy a treasure, burned only when the images of their faces become so distorted with time and wear I can barely make them out.

Hundreds of copies stored in safety deposit boxes all over the country with my passports, driver's licenses, credit cards and stashes of cash. My most prized possession, it is the only thing never left behind no matter how hasty the move. I have shrunk it to fit the locket around my neck. The locket once shiny new silver is now a priceless antique.

I may not have that seat, I may never have that seat, but in some small measure I have them, my family with me always.

The shrill ring of the phone cuts through the silence, granting me reprieve and yet freezing me in place.

There are only three that have this number and it is far too inappropriate an hour for Joel or the publisher to be calling.

_This is Darcy, leave a message….….. _

"Darcy? Really? Bella dear, Darcy? You could do no better than that?" His booming voice strains the small speaker and bounces from the stone walls.

Despite his friendly tone, his teasing, I start to panic. There are very few reasons he calls and none of them good.

I sprint to the phone and have it in hand before he takes another breath.

"And you better not be using Masen again." He chastises into my ear. "It is unhealthy, your obsession with the past."

"_My_ unhealthy obsession with the past?" I retort, the annoyance helping to mask my growing concern. "You are certainly one to judge. You have held the same name for what now, 400 years?"

"Well 'Hello' to you too. And actually, I've changed it." He informs me with a rather smug tone.

"Have you now?" I ask with a genuine curiosity, panic momentarily forgotten. He had refused to ever change it, claiming it would be a dishonor to his family to forsake the names they had given him. No matter how much trouble it had ever caused him, he held as tightly to his name as I do Edward. I also have my suspicions he fears losing that connection to his war record, but I have never been able to gain that confession.

"My name is Elizabeth Bennett." He says in absolute sincerity.

Although my worry is consuming me, I can't hold back the laugh. He always could make me smile. My love of the classics has always been amusing to him. I suppose it is something related to the fact he can clearly remember when they were new bestsellers.

Hearing his joyful laugh, I realize just how very much I have missed him.

"So……. your current surname?" He tries again. Hoping I'm sure, to get an admission in order to lecture me further.

"Harsin," I reply. Trying hard to keep my tone neutral and defying the smile on my face.

There is a long pause and I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure we weren't disconnected.

"Oh…..oh, my dear, I suppose I owe you a ring. Tell me, are diamonds still customary?" Despite his mockery I can tell he is genuinely touched I have taken his name. It was not a hard decision to make. I have never used my own, and finally saw his logic in not using the others. It makes sense, I owe him so much. And in a way, I am his. I should bear his name.

"Get off your knee, Miss Bennett and tell me, to what do I owe the honor of your call?" I ask, usually I can get almost anything from him by appealing to his humor.

"One cannot call an old friend?" He offers through his chuckle.

"One can, but you most certainly do not." And this is true. In all the years I have known him I can count the phone calls on my fingers and there has always been motivation behind them, more than simply feeling the loss of my company.

"True enough my dear," he concedes, "true enough."

"You are avoiding the question," I challenge.

I don't know how much more suspense I can bear. He is probably teasing me with the theatrics, as he is more than known to do. He is most likely wanting something insignificant, a safe haven perhaps to ride out whatever trouble he had caused himself now. It would be far from the first time. I cannot let myself believe it could be the alternative; something so terrible he can't bring himself to tell me. He usually has no difficulty saying anything at all.

"I am not, I am trying to answer you, are you going to tell me where you are?" He retorts impatiently. Patience never has been his strong suit.

Ah, suspicions confirmed. I can only imagine what he has possibly done now. Actually, I most likely don't want to know.

"Where are you?" I wonder aloud.

"Have you always been so petulant? Never mind, of course you have. I am just outside Seattle."

Seattle? Just outside Seattle? _What. Has. He. Done?_

"You…You haven't…you wouldn't be…" I choke on the words, unable to create a coherent thought as my mind races with the possibilities.

"Of course not Bella, what do you take me for?" All traces of amusement are gone from his voice "Have I not proven my loyalty to you?" He continues with genuine disgust.

"Of course, of course you have" I backtrack, beyond relieved. "Many times over, forgive me," I beg in a small voice. I cannot stand to have hurt him. His loyalty, his honor are his most prized attributes, and I have just unwittingly called them into question. "I should have never assumed. You said Seattle and I just…"

"I know Bella." He cuts me off. "Now tell me where you are so I may come calling."

"And how do I know you will refrain from dining on the neighbors?" I question in an attempt to disarm him with the playful banter we have perfected over the years.

Another booming laugh lets me know all is forgiven.

"Oh," he sighs. "If it is a requirement of your hospitality, I suppose I can be on my best behavior."

"Alright then, I guess your word is sufficient. I am outside Chicago." I finally admit.

"Masochist," He accuses.

"I know," I agree.

"I'll be there tomorrow."

"And I shall be waiting. For you and my diamonds" I tease, filled with joy in knowing I will be seeing him so soon.

"Oh Bella," he chuckles, "You know how I love you."

"As I love you Garrett, Godspeed."

**CHAPTER END NOTES**

Garrett Harsin was a real solider in the Revolutionary war. I am nothing if not thorough : )


	11. Storm: Stolen

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of the entire Twilight universe.**

**I own a fabulous pair of black chucks that my husband hates with a passion.(and sadly, no Twilight)**

As usual I hope I do Twilight justice.

For Edward and Bella who break my heart.

And again, for Dar who understands it all too well.

I died, for the first time, on a Thursday in September.

But again, I am getting ahead of myself. The end will make no sense without the entirety.

The leaves had started to turn, and the summer was barely hanging on. Warmness clung to the breeze hesitant to let go and be buried under the cold loneliness of winter.

The wheels of fate had tired of their turning and had decided, once again, that my number was up.

As usual, it had started innocently enough.

I was my birthday and we had gathered to celebrate.

I had been careless, lost in the camaraderie. I had broken the cardinal of all rules and exposed myself in a way I knew to be forbidden. I had unwittingly shown my weakness.

Despite conviction and enormous self-restraint some things simply prove too great a temptation.

Before I had even been aware of my unintentional transgression, he was upon me. The carefully controlled man I had loved as my own flesh and blood had been replaced by an animal of pure instinct, unreasonable, incoherent and completely consumed by his nature.

It matters not, my dear reader, whom the 'he' in question may have been. In the past too many years I have had to reflect upon everything in general, I realize how little the specifics really matter. As I have told you before, I firmly believe there are things set into motion that must be fulfilled. Some things will search out any available circumstance to reach fruition.

I mourn that he was the victim of my fate, that he was that unfortunately available circumstance. That it was he that had been pushed by my destiny into something he had tried so incredibly hard to resist.

If he is reading this now; among all the regrets I carry, never having the opportunity to tell you these things myself is one of the most haunting.

I am so sorry, so incredibly sorry that my weaknesses had caused a piece of you to break. While there is a part of me that holds tightly to the hope you have given this no more than passing thought through the years, I think I know you well enough to know that hope is in vain.

I have never, not for one moment, placed any blame on you. For this or for all that has followed.

Please accept my apology and lay this piece of the past to rest. I love you, my brother, for eternity.

So the stage had been set for my death yet again. And, he had come down upon me with a vengeance I could have never imagined him capable.

It was Adam again, that had come to my rescue. Pushing me from the path of destruction and thwarting fate. As the remaining members of my family tried desperately to ignore my obvious vulnerabilities, they had restrained their son, their brother and carried him away. Far from the temptation I offered and from my life forever.

As I sat on the floor of their home surrounded by the evidence of my mistakes, I could not stop the shame and disgust that had overwhelmed me. Not only had my selfishness again claimed a piece of their happiness, but this time I had caused a rift among them. I had created that small yet tangible fissure, illustrating yet again the utter hopelessness of our situation.

But I still managed to have hope. How? To this day I am not entirely sure. I suppose it was just the blind hope of love. A hope based in the never ending belief I had in him, the faith I had always held in us. That we would be able to stand strong, that my love would be enough to breach the seemingly insurmountable divide set before us.

And while that hope was the most pure and beautiful thing I have ever held, a true testament to my youth, my innocence and unending devotion to him, it was inconceivable, impossible.

In those perilous moments the universe had given us the undeniable proof that our love, as extraordinary as it may have been, was simply not enough.

I can finally see that now, painfully clearly I'm afraid. But much to the detriment of that pure, innocent and hopelessly in love little girl, he had been able to see it then.

While I had known, according to my diaries, that something was amiss in his mind since that night; I had not been aware just how thoroughly it had consumed him. His confidence in himself, in us was shattered. At his insistence we had walked into the woods. I had planned to comfort him, reassure him that my love for him would be enough to overcome every obstacle, to sustain us.

I knew not the decisions he had made. That the universe had already convinced him and before I had even spoken my first word, I had failed.

In the ultimate show of both compassion and cruelty, he used every weakness I possessed, every insecurity only he was privy to, and he told me that I was not enough. He confirmed every silent, nagging, secret doubt my mind had ever considered.

My love was not enough for him, to hold him. _I_ _had known I was not worthy of him from the beginning._

He told me he no longer wanted me_. I had never understood how he could have wanted me._

He told me we each, in turn, belonged with our own kind. _How I knew I was never strong enough, quick enough, beautiful enough for him._

He told me that in time, I would forget him completely. As if he, as if we had never existed.

And I had begged. Begged him to reconsider, begged for his love, and begged him to not end me.

With a kiss on my forehead, (the ghost of which haunts me still) a sharp wind brushed across my face and carried him and my family with him, out of that forest and out of my life for eternity.

So that Thursday, under the cover of thousand year old trees, the beautiful, immortal man that owned me heart and soul had succeeded where so many others had tried and failed.

For that was the day he had killed me.

My life had ended at his words.

Once I had genuinely loved him, that love overwhelmed me. It became my driving force, my strength and my only compulsion to live.

And although he had rejected it entirely, he had unknowingly, unwillingly taken it with him. For it was always his completely, and with it every piece of my soul.

But he had lied. In one measure I am absolutely sure and in others I only can only assume.

I have never been able to forget him. Never has there been a single moment in all the years I have lived where he has not existed in my mind. There have been times, I will admit, where I have prayed for it, begged the powers that be to steal every memory of him. And grant me some small reprieve from the unbearable pain that defines me still.

But he is always there, as he will always be. Smiling that crooked smile filled with our love and breaking me further.

As I have mentioned before my dear reader, I can only now also see it as an act of his compassion.

I do believe he had loved me once. As fiercely as I had loved him, love him still.

But I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the life he led was not what he had wanted for me. He had always been a true Guardian. He had guarded my humanity, my heartbeat with a fury matched only by my love.

He had always blamed himself for every threat I had faced. He had seen himself as the magnet pulling the danger to me.

And that leads me to believe that his defection was his misguided attempt to protect me, once and for all. Borne, I can only hope, from the love he did have for me.

Again, I can only assume, since that day was the last I have ever seen him. I have never had the opportunity to ask. And for the most part, I believe I would never want to. There are some things, even through the passage of so much time, which I still cannot bear to hear.

The ultimate irony, my dearest, is that in the end his prophecy was truly self fulfilled.

It was my humanity that he had guarded so fiercely. For my humanity, I believe, he had sacrificed every happiness I have ever known and that is precisely what he had stolen in that moment.

For in that moment, my end of days, it was he and he alone; not his nature, his species or extenuating circumstances. For with the words that cut me so deeply I could never recover, with his abandonment and the absence of my family that he had forced upon me, he had stolen my heartbeat, my humanity, my free will, all that I ever had been and all I should be still.

And so I was left, dead, cold and broken to the mercies of fate.


	12. Storm: Proposition

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight.**

**I do not own anything Twilight. (not even a keychain)**

Alrighty everyone, here it is, a taste of what you have been waiting for. (no, not that, that is still a while off) This chapter was really hard for me. (Like 3 full revisions hard) 

As Dar so graciously reminded me, I need to stop second guessing everything, shut the hell up and just write it already! As usual I hope I do everyone justice and I hope you don't regret coming along for the ride.

_**Please, please drop me a line and let me know what you think. Your reviews keep me going and we are thisclose to 100!**_

****I wanted to let everyone know that while I may not always be able to do an everyday or every other day update, I will update and will continue to update until the story ends. I will not give up, even when a chapter kicks my ass and I want to.******

A special thank you to all the visitor reviewers that I cannot personally thank through PMs

**For Dar – again- who knows exactly when I need to be told to shut the hell up and write.**

**And for beate73 who gave me a *hug* when I needed one.**

.

.

.

Eventually I had been found on that forest floor, carried back to my childhood home and cared for to the best of their ability.

A bad breakup they had believed; a first broken heart. She'll be fine they had said. Time heals all wounds.

But time did pass and the pain did not ebb. My heart and my wounds did not heal.

They did not know nor could they have known that I was trapped in the worst form of purgatory.

As I had warned you before gentle reader, once one has experienced the extraordinary there is no going back.

So I remained trapped. Trapped by the love for him that refused to fade and trapped between our worlds; mine I could not return to, and his that did not want me. And there I stood, straddling the lines of these two realities that had blurred and merged until I was nowhere at all.

The time still passed.

And, I did not want to resurface. For if I had broken through the storm, if I pulled my face from the water that was drowning me, I would have seen with no uncertainty that he was gone and I was truly alone.

I breathed. My heart beat in spite of me. I ate when encouraged, carried on my daily life as they had expected. But I was still dead, numb, completely absent.

The ghosts of my family, of Adam would haunt my sleep, forever just out of reach as I chased behind. My screaming, shattering the silence of the early morning with vengeance, was the most animated I would ever become.

When there was talk of moving, of doctors and hospitals and medication, panic broke my carefully guarded numbness. I could not leave, not let them take the very few memories I had of him with their drugs.

And so I had decided to chase the ghosts that haunted me. Claim any small piece of him, of them that was left behind and hopefully the shreds of myself.

I had gone to the fields where we once played and lay for hours, straining to hear their voices on the wind.

I had gone to the restaurant we favored, sat in our usual place and stared at my ravioli until the manager would come, question my sanity, (occasionally aloud) and escort me to my car.

I slept every night, regardless the temperature, with my window opened as far as possible. His doorway into my room and my heart, I could not bear to ever have it closed. The early morning screaming had served one purpose at least. After gaining as much control over myself as I was capable, I would stumble across the small room and open it again. Eventually they had relented, and with a few weather-strips and extra quilts, left the window and I to our own devices.

And finally, when the ghosts had still managed to evade me, I hurled myself head first into the storm and went to their home.

I would never go in, unsure if I could face the similarities between the things they had loved so easily discarded, carelessly left behind and my broken self.

At least I had been aware enough to know that would break me beyond my ability to continue pretending and I would be off to that doctor, his drugs and the loss of Adam completely.

And so I had sat. I sat for months in a patio chair facing the river. The rain, the snow, the cold did nothing to deter me. I would sit for hours, trying desperately not to remember the words he had spoken, and trying even more desperately not to forget a single thing about them all.

I would imagine they were behind me, bustling about the house. Engaged in their favorite past times. That at any moment I would be startled by his hands around my waist, his smooth voice teasing into my ear, his face resting against mine as we stared into the twilight.

And in the rare moments I truly let myself believe, I would breathe unencumbered.

Until, of course I would turn to the house. Cold, forgotten and devoid of life as I was, and I would sob on their patio until I begged the pain to stop my heart.

And so I would remain every day. Every spare moment spent in that patio chair. Until the hour I had to return home, pretend to eat and be a functioning member of society, ensure my window was still open and spend my nights screaming for him.

It was a few months before fate had decided yet again, to intervene.

I had been perched in my chair in the rain, my eyes to the trees but seeing only his smile when my reverie had been stopped cold by a figure breaking the tree line across the river.

While the distance had been far for my weak and human eyes, his tall stature and long blond hair were all they needed to see.

Abraham.

I shot from my seat and took off running to the river. Stumbling on the uneven, muddy terrain and screaming his name like a mantra. I was nearly to the river, covered in mud and still consumed in the hysteria of his sudden appearance when I looked across the river to him again. He was no longer standing frozen, but crouched low. Only his face, distorted by shock and confusion betrayed his stance. He had been poised to attack.

I was close enough then to take him in completely. He had been tall, muscular and his hair was a long and beautiful blond, plaited down his back. His clothes, while not nearly as muddy as mine, were dirty and worn. He had a small rucksack on his back and no shoes on his feet. He was an immortal, beautiful of course, and to quite a shock of my own, most certainly not Abraham.

Before my mind could catch up to my observations entirely, my mouth had opened and on its own asked who he was.

I should have been afraid, terrified even. My experience with any other of his kind should have taught me to be wary. But my mental aptitude, unstable to begin with had been so overcome by the thought of them having returned, I was barely able to construct a coherent question, none the less all the emotions that should have accompanied one.

He called to me from across the river, not rising from his crouch and eyeing me warily. Countering my demand he asked how I knew of Abraham.

Again, my mouth had moved on its own accord.

Through more stumbling than actual words, I had claimed Abraham as my father.

His booming laugh echoed from the tree lines on our respective sides of the river and shocked me. The strange immortal man I did not know had laughed at me.

Through his laughter he had announced more to himself than to me, that Abraham had always held affection for strays.

With that, the entirety of the situation finally caught up to me. The crushing pain of disappointment, the delayed fear of this stranger, and the cruelty of his words had crumbled the last of my resolve. My legs shook and wobbled and I fell to the muddy riverbank. Curled into the ball that had become as second nature as sitting, the emotion poured from me on its own accord.

He had, in those words ripped the hole in my chest farther. A forbidden line of thought shoved straight into my consciousness by this stranger.

For that was exactly one of the haunting thoughts of my nightmares. Had my family, the ones I loved above all others thought me a pet, a stray? Had I been a fragile kitten to hold, to care for until the novelty had worn thin and I had been left behind? Had I finally, with the carelessness on my birthday proved more troublesome than my worth?

With the gift of experience, of clarity, I can now see vestiges of truth in his words. To some small extent I am sure that had been the case. How could it not? Such an oddity, an anomaly, a fragile human trusting her life to those created to destroy it. How they had been amused by my mannerisms, my humanity. And, just like that stray, they had adopted me, brought me into the world that had then forsaken me.

I owe you more than half truths, my dear reader, and it would be an affront to this trust you place in me to deny those words he had spoken, his unfortunately coincidental attempt at humor, had cut me quick and deep, the scars haunt me still.

But, I do believe they had loved me. What may have started as curiosity and pity for my fragility had turned to the genuine love for a sister, a daughter, a lover, as I had always loved them. This I must believe.

This I have to believe.

With an all too familiar rush of wind, the man stood mere feet from my fragile and sobbing form and stared openly.

Through my strangled breaths and the fog of the pain that had weighed upon me, I asked him to kill me, kill me quickly and be gone.

While to most of their species such an invitation is rarely issued or in their minds required, few would hesitate to oblige such a request.

Of course, fate would choose this moment to extend her sense of irony. For yet again the strange immortal man had only laughed.

Instead he had sat down beside me, declared me the strangest creature he had encountered in his two hundred and fifty years and introduced himself as Cyrus.

I had been intrigued by him instantly, his light-heartedness, his immediate ease in that odd and uncomfortable encounter. As was he by the mentally unstable, strange and crying human girl that held no fear of him or his kind and claimed one as her father.

And there, in the cold rain, covered in mud, my tears and mutual curiosity, another extraordinary friendship had been born.

He was a nomad, an adventurer; he would attempt nearly anything at least once. As a man of honor, he had declared, he would never back down from a challenge. He had called on Abraham on a whim, hearing from others he had a permanent residence in the area. Although it had been a half century since they had last met, Cyrus was hopeful to see his old friend and indulge in his hospitality.

His eyes were blue, the mark of a guardian. But his were a deeper blue, the midnight sky compared to Adam's clear ocean. I had inquired the color and was informed he was not a true guardian, but he had believed adhering to the customs of the indigenous would earn him a warmer reception.

Much to his amusement I had proclaimed his assumption well founded.

His very presence, the familiar mannerisms and lack of strict secrecy brought me a small measure of comfort. It was beautiful, for just a short time to have someone, anyone who knew the truths I could never speak aloud.

In his company I was drawn back into the world of the supernatural, no longer trapped in my own purgatory and free from one small cross I had been bearing. While I rarely spoke, he was never at a loss for words. He was constantly indulging me in his two hundred and fifty years of escapades. Always the man of honor he never inquired further, either of my relationship to any of the Guardians, my complete disinterest in entering the house or my display by the river.

Instead he took great success in cracking my countenance and making me smile.

And so the days passed and I had tried to enjoy the brief reprieve he had so graciously provided. I tried not to dwell. For I knew when he inevitably passed on to his subsequent enterprise I would be again left alone in the cold, back into my purgatory, only with one more immortal to mourn.

He bid me goodbye on a rainy afternoon much like the one he had arrived. Off to another adventure, he declared, promising me word of his travels through letters. And while I had called on every remaining reserve of my strength to not show him how very much he had meant to me in our short and strange friendship, I could not hold back tears as he bent and placed a kiss to the back of my hand.

Through my tears I wished him Godspeed. And with another haunting gust of wind he, my only remaining friend in the world and my last true connection to my family and Adam, had gone.

I spent the remainder of that day and far into the evening staring into the forest that borne his departure. The pain I had suffered at his exodus, although severe paled in comparison to Adam. So I focused my tears on the loss of my distraction, my friend.

Many hours later, when a figure had immerged from the tree line I shot again from my seat. I had made motion to run to him, but was stopped short when I had taken in his appearance.

The new clothes he had acquired from the house had been muddied and torn. His hair, always so carefully plaited hung half loose and wild. He was absently rubbing his shoulder and mumbling to himself. His rucksack was gone.

He had gone only a few miles, he had told me. He had been lost in his plans when he had caught scent of another.

Belial.

He was coming for me, a favor for Lilith who had held me and me alone accountable for the death of Astaroth.

While they had been acquaintances there was no love lost amongst the men. Cyrus, ever the honorable fan of civility was perpetually disgusted by the habits of my former adversary.

And Cyrus had claimed me, told Belial I had died at his hands.

Words were exchanged, accusations made and challenges offered.

The fight, he had assured me, had been decades in the making.

While Belial had been dangerous, strong opposition, Cyrus was older, stronger, more experienced, a man of war.

And I had remained frozen, in the shock of seeing him again, in the horror of his words, and in the disgust that in only a few days of my company I managed to damn him to the same dangers I had always caused my family. By knowing me, for even so short a time, he too had fallen victim to my curse.

He had returned to offer a warning.

Lilith would come for me, he had assured me. A vendetta such as hers would not be forgotten. I would need to run, to be protected beyond his ability. He had encouraged me to find them, the Guardians and offered assistance to send word. To bring them back himself. He had assured me repeatedly, for I continued to be frozen in place, they would not leave me to this fate. They would return, he had promised, they would protect me.

My head had spun through the chaos. Yet another danger, yet another death. He had expected me to call for them, beg them to come back, protect the small kitten they had left behind.

In a surprising moment of clarity for my younger self, I realized I could not, would not ever place the responsibility of my fate back on their shoulders. How I had known they had bore too many burdens on my behalf already. I had divided their family, put them in danger, broken their convictions. I was a plague upon them all. They had already suffered too greatly at my hands, my selfishness. I would not subject them to more, regardless the threat.

At the very least, I had owed them that.

So I had told him no.

Although we had never spoken of it all, he had never asked and I had most certainly never offered he took in my small and frightened form and told me they would love me still, _he_ would love me still and they would come for me.

And again I told him no. My fate was mine alone.

I would not allow him, Adam, my family to suffer one more moment by my hands.

And then he had called me selfish.

Selfish for concerning myself more with convoluted morals, my warped sense of right and wrong then letting the stronger ones I had loved do what they felt appropriate. The choice should be theirs, he had countered.

And I had laughed, hysterically, maniacally. Selfish? Had that not been my weakness all along? And the choice should be theirs? The choices were theirs, always theirs. They had chosen to leave, leave me to fate, to run from the path of destruction always left in my wake. He had chosen to take his love from me, to take my life with him.

I never had the choice.

And it was with those words, my hold on reality finally snapped. The weight of the extraordinary world I had lived on the fringes of had broken me completely. I could no longer bear the pain, the shame for all I had done to them, my family, Cyrus, Adam. The fear now endlessly multiplied, I could no longer stand the loss of my family, the loss of Adam, the other half of my whole, I could no longer live in any measure without him.

I could not willingly descend back into purgatory, my hell on earth.

I had then seen nothing but the end of my suffering. The peace and freedom from every ghost that plagued me, that glorious reprise he had now denied me twice, which he had attempted to deny me yet again.

I had thrown myself on him with the fury of my losses. Frozen in shock he had stood silently as I attacked. And he just stood firmly and unmoving. Stood as the rage overthrew me and I crashed my small fists against his strong, unyielding chest as the bones in my hands had cracked and broken with strain.

I had screamed at him. Screamed for all I was worth as the assault continued despite the pain. I cursed him for denying me the escape that had been offered, for not killing me as I had asked, for leaving me, just as the others had to the purgatory I would not, could not, return to.

As I screamed, I blamed him for existing. For reminding me of all I had ever wanted, dreamed of and would never have again.

I grew hoarse, my hands bled and still I did not relent.

And still he stood, until the rage had ebbed and the pain took its rightful place and consumed me. When my body failed and I fell to my knees he had knelt beside me and held me rocking in his arms.

And the pain and the shame and the storm that raged through me could no longer be contained. It had poured forth as I sobbed and choked on the story of my love, my Adam, my family and that day in September. I had cried through the horror of my purgatory, of the field, of the window that never closed, of the screaming that obstructed every night of sleep.

He held me into the night, making no mention of his discomfort in having me close. And although the arms that surrounded me were not the ones my heart was screaming for, my breathing eventually evened as the sobbing quieted and I had begun to fade back into my guarded numbness.

He had said nothing, not a single word through my outburst. Not a word through the hysterics, not a word through the entirety of my story.

Finally I had completely calmed, was thoroughly ashamed and overwhelmed by pain for the breaks in my hands and the wounds on my heart.

He had then looked down to me, still unmoving in his arms and stared into me. Time seemed to slow as he searched the meager remnants of my soul with his strange blue eyes. And I stared back through my still watery and bloodshot eyes, captivated and thoroughly confused.

Satisfied with whatever he had found, he then broke our gaze. He had faced the river and with a sigh whispered the three words that would finally appease fate.

_Ask me again._

After only a brief moment I had understood the entirety of his request. I jumped to my knees and cupped his face into my broken, bleeding hands and he did not flinch. I had searched his eyes then. Searched for any hesitation, any indication he was unsure, his offer, this gift impure. And I found nothing but certainty, nothing but compassion. For another immeasurable moment I stared into him, silently thanking him and marveling at his mercy. I brought my cheek to his and as quietly as he had asked I responded.

_Kill me._

He hung his head for only a moment, and sighed to himself.

He picked up my small and broken hand and as carefully as he could, he pressed his lips to the back.

He turned to face me, held my head in his hands and lightly kissed my forehead.

I had closed my eyes then. And, taken a shaky breath and said my silent goodbyes; to my parents, my adopted family, to the pain, the loneliness, the shame. I said goodbye to Cyrus, my dear friend who after such a short time had grown to love me enough to save me.

I then finally cleared my head of the water and said goodbye to Adam.

_Adam, my only love, I love you always, for eternity._

I opened my eyes to meet his already boring back into mine, searching once more for any hesitation, any doubt.

He opened his arms to me a final time and leaned down as I melted into his embrace. Seeing only Adam's smile, I drew one last breath. 

For in the moments I heard him whisper _may god forgive me_, the fiery pits of hell had opened and the flames reached up and swallowed me whole.

**CHAPTER END NOTES**

As a reminder,

Astaroth, Belial and Lilith are James, Laurent and Victoria, respectively.

(And another huge thanks to everyone who has shared their immeasurable knowledge of the Bible and Demonic mythology. The whole Lilith thing totally blew my mind!)

It is truly ironic that after I described in **Loyalty** Garrett's obsessive need to hold on to his own name, I had the _Hardest. Time. Ever._ naming him. It seriously took more than a day while all the others took minutes.

So I picked Cyrus, King Cyrus actually. He was a warrior. God brought down the Babylonian empire through Cyrus. I thought that was appropriate because SM in Breaking Dawn makes mention of Garrett being a soldier in the Revolutionary war.

Through this war Cyrus brings an end to the punishment of the Jews, where my Garrett brings an end to the suffering of Bella.

I had also found reference to Cyrus being of high moral and ethical value and opposed to brutality and cruelty– as is this Garrett (besides the eating people, of course)

Cyrus was also disinterested in the conquering of lands, which works for me because as a nomad Garrett really isn't interested in land of his own.

Finally, Cyrus was supposedly tolerant of alternate religions and customs. This really fits for SM's and this Garrett being willing to try anything.

So there you have it. Cyrus it is.

(and my disclaimer once more – I did minimal research on the internet for this information. My advance apologies for inaccuracies and I hope no one is offended by my selection.)

_Roses are Red_

_Violets are Blue_

_I know this poem sucks_

_But, please leave a review _

I know, I know. I'll put more effort into the next one, I promise!


	13. Storm: Burn

**You know the drill – Stephenie Meyer is the owner of the Twilight universe. **

**I own nothing. (except for my fabulous new Twilight keychain courtesy of Twilight ladies night)**

I thank everyone endlessly for your reviews. You are amazing and I am so grateful.

This is a shorty, but it does enhance the story and it is one of my favorites. I apologize for the incessant Storm chapters, I know what you are waiting for and trust me, I am too, but just as Eve has told us – "the end will make no sense without the entirety." So please bear with me here and I as always, I will do my very best to make the journey worthwhile.

**For my Twilight posse – Dar, De and Carrie – I love you like sisters. You girls inspire me and rock my world.**

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Much to my surprise, in some respects, Hell had been both better and worse than I could have ever imagined.

The physical pain, in a matter of moments, had far exceeded the boundaries of any pain I had ever experienced. I could feel my back arch, higher, higher still, trying to contort my body from the flames. I had felt the bones in my fingers snap as I desperately clung to whatever had been beneath me, trying and failing to hold myself together. I had screamed endlessly, an involuntary reaction only adding to the pain. My throat tore with a thousand shards of glass, my ears bled from the strain. An atomic bomb had exploded in my chest; my limbs had boiled over and melted. Each strangled breath was harder to catch than the last as my lungs burned alternatively from the lack of oxygen and the enormous crushing weight of the air I drew into them. I was blinded, deafened by the pain, the steady beat of what I had assumed to be a clock was the only sound I heard as I screamed, writhed and burned for an eternity.

Through the burning there was one small mercy. As the flames ripped through my body and consumed every bone, muscle and nerve in their path they also filled the hole in my chest. The fire chewed through the pain, the shame, the loneliness, the emptiness.

That day in September, the words he had spoken that had killed me that first time, every horrible and unbearable moment since, were devoured leaving nothing but ash. And through that excruciating pain I had also found peace.

And still I burned, minutes, hours, days, years the flames, the pain did not relent.

The peace was instantaneously shattered while I watched helplessly as more memories, sacred memories, were consumed by the endless rage. Adam, my family, Cyrus engulfed in the blaze.

And so I screamed more loudly.

Still screaming, still writhing, burning, breaking, more than half crazed I sifted through those memories, racing the ravenous fire.

Finally I had found the one, Adam that first day, that first smile that had claimed my heart, my heaven. I held it tightly in my mind; with all I had left I fought back the flames that had come to claim it.

I released all control of my body to the burning.

_Take it. Take it all. It's yours, but not this, not Adam._

_**His hair, bleached from the sun was in mussed disarray, messy but perfect, the color shone like the rays themselves. A perfectly masculine nose on top of perfect lips. His skin a warm rich tan, another gift of the sun.**_

I let go of my name, my history, my life.

_Burn it, burn it all to ash. Take me, have me, not him_.

…_**..But his eyes, oh his eyes, a crystal clear blue, endless, omniscient and as I know now, a marker for what he was, the choice he'd made…..**_

I sacrificed my parents, my family, Cyrus.

_I give them to you. But not this, never this, He is mine._

…_**..He broke the stare-down and smiled. My heart stopped, my breath stopped, my hold on the world shifted. It was heaven on earth in that crooked smile of his. And I was lost…..**_

And still it raged through me. Still I screamed, convulsed through the pain as the fire attempted violently to shake my resolve.

…_**..was in mussed disarray, messy but perfect….. a crystal clear blue, endless, omniscient….. heaven on earth in that crooked smile of his….. was in mussed disarray, messy but perfect….. a crystal clear blue, endless, omniscient…..heaven on earth in that crooked smile of his…..**_

Every thought I had held, every hope, every memory, every truth given up.

_Mine, only mine, you cannot have him, he is mine, mine for eternity._

Through the endless burning, the Hell I alone had condemned myself to, I cowered in the corners of my mind and watched as the flames consumed the offerings lain out before it.

Everything, all of me, every piece of the girl I had been, burned beyond my recognition as I desperately clung to the one memory of Adam.

As suddenly as it had begun, the clock had stopped its incessant ticking and the flames had retreated.

I had rejoiced. The pain had finally relented.

And I had done it. Through the horrors of the deepest pits of Hell, I had managed to find the strength, the conviction, to do the one thing I had never been able to do.

For as my body had been unimaginably ravaged, my mind completely consumed until nothing else had remained, I was finally quick enough. I was finally strong enough.

I had fought for him, fought for Adam.

And I had won.


	14. Complicated

**Stepheine Meyer is the Owner of all things Twilight.**

**I own a copy of Wall.e that seriously made me cry my eyes out (and no Twilight)**

**Warning: Long obnoxious authors note. Please read even if you usually ignore them!**

Okay first and foremost, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I have been trying hard to respond to each and every review, but it is becoming harder and harder to do. With all of the terribly inconvenient things I have to do being a wife and mother and all, I don't feel as if I have enough time to write this story, let alone continue to thank everyone individually. 

Please, please know that I am so incredibly grateful for each and every review you send me. I literally squeal with joy – yup, squeal – when I open my inbox to reviews, so please continue. They mean very, very much to me, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Moving on.

I had a problem. I had certain things I needed to tell you and could not find the appropriate medium. They didn't fit well in Storm and Bella's chapters are all current, not flashbacks, so where did that leave me? Stuck. Then someone got up on a soapbox and started shouting out his side of the story and would not shut the hell up. But, the more I listened the more I realized he was funny, and witty and a damn good storyteller so I started writing it all down. And still he wouldn't shut up. And by the time he finally finished I had the 6,000 plus words that sit before you now. But I was nervous. I was wary of a new POV, and worried it would not mesh right with the rest of the story.

But, I love it. Seriously. Just maybe the best chapter of the whole story. (somewhere in cyber-land De and Amatomis are banging their heads against a wall)

So this chapter is for them, my honorary betas:

**De **– The high priestess of fabulousness in the Twilight posse. And….. 

**Amatomis** – Author, reviewer extraordinaire and proud owner of the first signed copy of the book I have yet to write.

They read this chapter (in De's case more than anyone should have to) and encouraged me when I thought it sucked. They stood by me when I trashed and resurrected it twenty times. They laughed, cried and kicked my ass when I made mention of the shredder.

They fought for this chapter and they were so incredibly right. Sorry girls, I just couldn't see what you saw until the end.

****** So, please, please do me a favor. If you are a faithful reviewer or have never reviewed before, please review this one and tell me honestly what you think ******

At long last, De, Amatomis and I present to you:

Garrett's POV

149 years ago…….

(picks up mid Storm: Proposition)

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I bent and placed a gentle kiss on her hand. I saw the tears fall as I turned to the forest. I cannot help but feel badly for the girl, such a small thing, too much sadness, too many tears for someone that young.

"Godspeed, Garrett," she whispers behind me, and I hear the sobbing start again.

What an unexpected turn of events, what an odd creature. She is hardly more than a child, but looks as if she bears the weight of the world on her shoulders. Why am I so intrigued? Just a human girl and a rather pitiful one at that, it's just…such odd reactions. I simply do not know what to make of her.

She never spoke of it, well more than her words of Carlisle. Her father! I stifle a laugh. He always was a queer one. The whole coven honestly, or excuse me _family_, a family of seven! Well, really eight if you count the girl. Why in the world would they 'adopt' a girl, even such an unusual, interesting one?

The animals I understand, really I do, even if the taste is atrocious. But keeping constant company with a human? The temptation alone…well, for lord's sake the man is a Doctor. For Humans! I cannot help but shake my head at that. A doctor! Only Cullen! Good man though--honest, loyal, compassionate, such a rarity these days, even if he is older than me. One of the few I look up from time to time. I had even forgiven him being born British, and that is certainly a testament to his character.

Still, it was not that difficult to piece together. Her scent all over the house, concentrated in the third floor room.

The Oldest of his 'children'. Children! I cannot help another chuckle. Cullen and his 'children'!

Edward, I believe. Morose, sullen, haughty little thing if I remember correctly. Not much more than a newborn when I had last seen them. And that mind reading! What an annoyance, I had been rather dreading that again. Hopefully the boy has gained better control, at least of his impulses. One does not need his more colorful escapades illustrated for amusement. Hardly my fault Cullen's mate reminded me of that duchess, Catherine was it?

Ah, no matter now.

Although I suspect it must be quite a cross for him to bear. Not that it excuses his unpleasant temperament. With the evils of men I have seen, I can only imagine the horrors of their actions left undone. Such a shame really, the world has fallen to hell in a hand basket. Of course we had our wars, but at least we were fighting for something. Honor and loyalty used to be virtues, Hell, people used to be virtuous. Women were ladies; men were gentlemen, well, at least in front of the ladies. Now, lord, they can't even keep their children completely clothed in public.

What could they have done? Had to have been him considering the reaction I received after mentioning that room. Had to be bad, very bad to leave that poor little thing it the state she is in. She actually asked me to kill her! Well ordered me to kill her is more accurate, such spirit even in her sadness. Maybe that is it, that spirit, unusual nowadays. Yes, it must have been him, and it must have been very bad. Not that I am entirely surprised, like I said, he was an arrogant little pest.

I can't imagine he had been courting her. Could he? Seriously court a human girl? I mean I have heard of certain, ahem, interactions occurring between the species, but really he couldn't be older than what, sixty, seventy at most? No way would he have that sort of control, not yet. That would take another fifty, hundred years at least.

Not that I would know, of course.

Why would they not have changed her? The condition she's in in their absence I can only imagine she would have been willing. So why bear the temptation unnecessarily? But then again the lifestyle certainly does make one more mellow. Only a few weeks and I can already feel the difference. Maybe he simply preferred her human.

Well that is an interesting possibility. Not that I really see the draw, besides the obvious, of course. That blush was an interesting test of self control.

Well, he is the spawn of Cullen, so honestly, lord only knows his motivations.

Still, it isn't right. She is just a child and whatever they, or more specifically, _he_ did to her broke her completely.

Obviously they left. But why had they left their pet behind? Dangerous and irresponsible, it surprises me that Cullen would do so. First that she would know anything at all, and she appears fairly well educated. It poses an immense danger not just to them, but to her as well. Why would they leave her unguarded? God forbid anyone in Italy got wind of that.

More so, being anywhere near that house makes her a much easier target. What if someone else came looking for Cullen? Not many would turn down the offer of a free meal, especially one that young…and blushing.

Could they have been attacked? Running maybe? No, that can't possibly be the case. Not a coven, excuse me, _family_ that large. From the rumors, the oldest was not the only one talented. Not even the strongest, from what I've heard. Save interference from Italy they would be unstoppable. No one sane would dare challenge them. That could not be the driving force that led them away.

I can't do anything but shake my head at all of it. Compassion to the limits of sanity for the reprehensible population at large, but treat one that you claim as your own the way they did that little girl? Where is the compassion for her?

No, that Cullen is one I'll never understand.

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Oh, for the love of all things holy what is that stink?

Laurent.

Damn it, just what I needed today. Crude, disgusting coven in general, completely lacking in civility, I have no tolerance for playing with one's food and the way those three behave…At least it appears to just be him this time.

Lucky me!

I can't hold back my grin. His two companions were the one thing preventing me from torching him the last time, even though he is French. Hate to ruin a Frenchman, but it isn't like he personally had anything to do with it. He hardly deserves the distinction, he should have been British.

Maybe I can direct him away from the girl.

Why am I so concerned with her safety? I am telling myself it is for Cullen's benefit. How would it be received if he had found I had left her in a dangerous situation? Our camaraderie would dictate I take care of his own. But that isn't it, there is something else, something I just can't explain.

I turn course to follow him, he's making a larger loop around the house. Scouting maybe? Trying to gain the whereabouts of the whole coven, I mean _family_ perhaps? Why would he not ask James? He is a tracker if I remember correctly.

Probably too dense to think of calling him, I snicker to myself.

Might as well be civil, might make him leave faster. As much as I would enjoy pulling him limb from limb I am still feeling rather docile from the experimental diet change. Well, that and I did just acquire some new clothing. Rather expensive looking from what I can tell. It would be a pity to ruin it already, especially for him.

"Laurent, my old friend!" I call through the foliage. "Tell me, what brings you to the area?"

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I am absently walking back to the house making contingency plans in my head, rubbing the new scar on my shoulder thanks to the weasel. He bit me--_bit_ me! Granted I was removing his limb at the time, but still, biting? Just as I had told you, no class at all, sad excuse for a Frenchman.

I turn my head to look back at the rising clouds of smoke. At least I got the last laugh. Salaud.

She must mean more to them than I originally suspected. We don't take destroying our own lightly. Well, Laurent being the exception of course. Mate for mate, interesting. I guess he had been courting her, insane, but interesting none the less. But if she was his mate why would he leave her? At least that explains why the poor thing is as torn up as she is.

No I just don't understand them at all.

Okay, so where are they? I know of at least two more of Cullen's homes: one in New York...Rochester, I believe. Last I had called on him it had been in Rochester. Not a bad place to start, though it may be too soon for them to return there. There is also the home in London, the one McKenna had mentioned. Ugh, London. They haven't been there in a while, as far as I know. Well, a necessary evil. I am sure I can manage a little trouble while I'm there. Make the trip truly worthwhile.

And where was the boy from? Chicago I think it was. Put that on the list for another possibility. He may still own his family's estate.

Maybe I can call Kate. Ah…… Kate. If anyone would have any idea where they were headed it would be Carmen. Would they go to them, to Alaska? I certainly wouldn't mind a trip to Alaska.

No, no deal with the girl and then a nice long trip to Alaska. Another on the list, now what to do with the pet? I wonder if she knows where they would go. Hmm, seems unlikely. I have the sneaking suspicion if she had any idea at all where they headed, she would have been on the first flight.

Well, if I am going to have to find them, I'll just have to bring her with me. Lord, do I really need the temptation following me around until we have them? No certainly not an exciting prospect, but I am not going to leave that poor little thing at the mercy of that lunatic. She would be torn apart in seconds. That is, of course, if Victoria was feeling compassionate. Not that I would ever dare expect that of her.

I could just change her myself. She would be safe enough then. I have been dying, ha dying, to try that. No, no bad idea. If Cullen hadn't done it himself there had to be good reason. Plus he has claimed her, in some capacity at least. I wouldn't want to offend him. Not to mention travelling with a newborn would be infinitely more complicated than dealing with the inconvenience of a human.

I could just leave her in Denali, they are all ancient and don't consume the natural food source. If the Cullens were alright around her I'm sure the Denalis would be also. Could I ask them to bear that burden? I'm sure they would do it for Cullen, at least.

Well, I certainly can't have her traipsing all over with me. Lord, she can't even run to the damn river bank on two feet. I may have been able to resist that blush, but any bloodshed on her part would be a very bad circumstance for the both of us, more for her, of course. Well, I'll just have to carry her. As long as I feed often enough I should be able to handle her proximity on the trip to Alaska.

_Or_, Cullen does have some perfectly lovely means of transportation in that garage of his. I'm sure he would not deny us appropriate means of transport in keeping his pet safe.

So that is the plan, bring her as far with me as Alaska and leave her to the Denali clan. Then I can seek the Cullens in good conscience and return her to them. Maybe I'll use that chance to knock some sense into that Edward. Although I am genuinely surprised Carlisle, Prime Minister of morality, would not have done a better job in keeping his 'son' from causing so much trouble to a human.

No, I don't understand at all.

I see her as I am still under the cover of the foliage. I wonder if she ever moves from that chair. What do I tell her? I don't want to scare her, but she needs to know the severity of the situation. Will she trust me enough to just follow me to Alaska? I hardly see why not. She obviously has no concern for our species. Ha, father!

She finally sees me coming and is running to meet me. Why does it please me she is happy to see me again? Strange…

She freezes as she takes in my appearance. Could I be in that bad of shape? I reach to my hair to find it half loose. I'm sure I look a fright. What can I say, for a Frenchman he fought dirty.

I call to her from my place at the tree line.

"Bella, there has been a small complication"

She still hasn't moved. Is she listening?

"Bella, I was headed on in the forest and I had caught scent of someone."

Still no reaction.

"Someone like me."

Nothing, is there something wrong with her, apart from the obvious? Has she finally snapped under the pressure?

"Bella, did you know someone named Laurent? He had said he was on his way to find you, for Victoria. Apparently she is feeling rather vengeful over the death of her mate. She is looking for you, Bella."

A small shudder runs through her tiny frame.

At least we're getting somewhere.

"Don't worry Bella, I took care of him, he will not bother you. I was my pleasure I assure you. It had been a century in the making. Vile, crass, uncivil – all three of them, I can hardly blame your coven for disposing of their leader."

Back to stillness. Could she be in shock? Humans do that do they not? How does one treat shock?

At least this will make an easier trip to Alaska. Pick her up, toss her in the car--that red monstrosity looks like fun--and a nice peaceful quiet ride to Alaska.

"But, Bella, and this is very important, Bella are you listening to me?"

She is still standing frozen but tears are starting to run down her cheeks. Okay, no shock. She must be fine; the tears are as normal a reaction I can expect of her.

"Bella, we need to leave here, this place is no longer safe for you. You will need to be guarded from Victoria. And although she is no more a worthy opponent than that salaud Laurent, I cannot possibly be with you at all times. I will have to feed eventually--_often_ if I am to be around you, and that would leave you exposed. I cannot stand guard for you alone."

She continues to stand immobile, tears running down her face in rivulets now, and her mouth is opening and closing. Trying to form words I assume, although she does appear to be a trout.

I can feel my temper beginning to rise in spite of the diet change. Oh thank you Garrett for dispatching the evil immortal creature that had come for vengeance. Thank you for troubling yourself with my existence, although you have no idea why you are so concerned. Oh, you're welcome little girl, I had nothing better to do today than burn my brethren and escort a human to Alaska.

"Bella, the Cullens will protect you. They would not leave you exposed to Victoria. We need to find them. They are strong enough a force to defend you from most anything. If you have any idea where they would go I need you to tell me now. The sooner we locate them the better. Bella, they will take care of you, they will not leave you to this threat. I will find the Cullens."

She breaks her stance and looks into my eyes, appearing as if she is seeing me for the first time. Well, she better have caught all that because I'm not going through it again. I can answer any questions she may have on our way. We need to be moving, it is starting to make me uneasy, standing here waiting around for Victoria. Laurent never did say where she was or how long it wou…

"No"

_Huh?_

"Pardon me?" I stutter through my surprise. _No?_

"I said no, I am not going to them." She answers, tilting up her chin in defiance. Her eyes strangely clear.

_What the hell?_

"Bella, Bella please hear me." I coax her like a petulant child. "They love you. They loved you enough to burn one of their own kind. I assure you that is not something we take lightly, Laurent notwithstanding. They love you, Bella, and they will take care of you."

The steel look remains on her face, time to pull out the heavy artillery.

"Bella, he loves you still."

"No!" She shouts back at me with venom I had not expected her capable of.

"I will not subject them, you, Edward to one more danger on my behalf. I said _no_, Garrett; I won't do it, not to any of you. Not anymore."

You have to be jesting. I feel the fury rise through me. After all I have already been through on her behalf, she is going to tell me what she will or will not be doing? And the danger? To us? Is that why she has no fear of our kind? Does she truly not know what we are capable of? I'll be damned if I walk away now.

"Stop being a selfish little girl."

I can see the fire light in her eyes.

"The choice is ours Bella, mine and the Cullens." I practically spit at her "Not yours. So you can stop concerning yourself with your convoluted morals, your warped sense of right and wrong and let us do what we feel appropriate."

I stare down at her, daring her to challenge me. This has gone on long enough.

"Selfish?" And she starts to laugh hysterically. Has she completely lost her mind? Lord, maybe that is why they left. Maybe she is genuinely insane. It would explain enough.

"Selfish," she mumbles to herself. "Selfish." Another weak and disturbing laugh. "Always so selfish Bella……." Talking to oneself, that is a sign of insanity, is it not? "Left…all of them…just…left …took my life with him...the choice was never mine!" she screams at me, suddenly. The look in her eyes is enough to freeze me completely. I know that look, I have seen these eyes.

Elisabeth! Elisabeth, my sister! The memory hits me full force, cementing me even farther into place as she launches herself at me. She is not the sad little Cullen pet, she is my sister. She is Beth; the day I had to tell her Joseph fell in battle. That look, that same look in her eyes.

Small fists crash against my chest, over and over. I hear the snaps as the bones give way under the force of her wrath.

"I can't go back, I won't go back! You should have killed me, killed me when I asked, let Laurent have me, better dead than here!" She is screeching at me, but all I hear is Beth, Beth pounding on my chest, screaming through her tears.

_You promised me Garrett, promised me you would keep him safe. You promised me._

"Your fault, should have let me die! Your fault, your fault! Damn vampires, liars! Traitors! "

_Your fault, Garrett, he was under your command! Yours! You promised me, promised me you would keep him safe_

"Stolen from me!…Stolen!....Not enough time…Not long enough!"

_Four months Garrett, Four months! Married four months…Not long enough Garrett, I need more time…._

The blows become lighter and I see her whole frame shaking, shaking as the screams turn to sobs. I see her sway a moment before her legs give out and she falls to her knees on the wet ground. In a flash I am on my knees behind her. I pull her tiny body into mine.

_I am rocking her, rocking her on the kitchen floor. Her small fists clinging to my jacket as if I am the only thing holding her here, holding her from breaking apart completely._

"I love him, love him so much....I can't forget…can't forget his smile…his laugh…I can't forget..."

…_Garrett, I love him, I cannot go on without him, my husband, my love……_

"…Didn't want me….not strong enough…not beautiful enough…his own kind….left me…"

…_He promised he would come back to me, he promised me, promised he would not leave me…_

I hold her into the night, slowly rocking her as she pours out every drop of her heartbreak, her betrayal, her love for that stupid boy. The blood, slowly drying in ribbons down her arms, the scent of salt in her tears, the rich blotches on her face mean nothing, nothing to me at all. For tonight I am not a vampire, tonight I am more than two hundred and fifty years away. Tonight I am a stupid, young, soldier who has just paid the cost of war with his baby sister's heart. Tonight I am cursing god, the British and the damn prices of freedom while I hold her together in my arms and rock her through both of our tears, our broken hearts and into the morning.

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Hours later her tears have stopped and her breathing is finally even. I feel all the tension gone from her body. I look down, expecting to see her asleep and find her bloodshot eyes staring back at me. Again I see only Beth, Beth begging me for salvation from her nightmares. Beth asking with her big brown eyes, _Garrett,_ _find the way to save me_…..

I could not save her then. I could not stop the grief that slowly consumed her. The deadness that grew to cover her eyes, I could not halt the loss that overshadowed every remaining moment of her life. I could not sweeten the bitterness that held her heart.

I could not save my Beth.

But I can save Bella.

I can do it, I can steal her memories. I can free her of him forever. I can give her back the girl she was before they ruined her.

Would that be ethical, moral, would it be right? Replace one curse, one burden with another? Would I be saving her or damning her further?

Her eyes, swollen, still watering, hold nothing but pain. Pain that will not fade, pain that will slowly poison her just as it had poisoned Beth.

Beth, she is the answer I seek. If it were Beth I held in my arms, Beth whose life lay in balance, what would I choose?

I pull my eyes to the river and watch the sky turning pink with the coming dawn. A new day, a new life, which life would I choose for Beth?

"Ask me again," I whisper. Ask me now, now when I can save you as I could not before.

She jumps to her knees so quickly it almost startles me. Her blood stained hands ignite the once dormant fire in my throat, but I make no move to break her gaze. She is searching me now and I feel weak, naked under the hold she has on me. Her lips twitch to a small, sad smile while her eyes show nothing but determination. She leans into me and I freeze, tempted by the proximity.

I hear her voice, weak, hoarse, gravel.

"Kill me." This time she is asking, begging.

I hang my head and can only sigh. Please God, make me strong enough to pull away.

I pick up her small hand, careful of the breaks, and place a feathery kiss to the back.

I turn to her and cup my hands on her face and kiss her forehead, just as I had always done, saying goodbye to Beth one last time. Forgive me sister, for not having the ability to save you then.

I hear her shaken breath as I pull away from her and open my arms.

_Make this choice with me Bella_, I am silently asking her. _Give_ _me your life and I will take_ _it_.

With no hesitation she leans into me.

I take an unnecessary breath and offer one more prayer. "May God Forgive Me..." before leaning into her soft, warm body and draining her poison, replacing it with my own.

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She burns for three days in a half fallen stone cottage I had found a few miles out in the woods. Close enough to complete the tasks at hand, yet far enough for her screaming not to be heard. Well, by anyone but me. I leave her only to run the necessary errands and spend the remaining time holding her hand and cringing from her pain.

After a much needed hunt, my first task was to deal with her death. Given we were by the river and her truck was already here I made do with what I had and staged her suicide on the river bank. The note was easy enough to forge once I had found her backpack. A quick glance through her notes was enough to ensure the penmanship would pass even the most rigid of scrutiny. (Funny how some things are every bit as incredibly boring as they were two hundred years ago; has no one seriously written a worthwhile play since Romeo and Juliet?) I throw her jacket in the river along with her shoes and sweater. We are close enough to the ocean that it should be enough to make it believable. Especially considering the state she has been in. No one will look twice.

From the wallet in her backpack I find her license and stake out her house. As she had sobbed she had confessed to never closing her window. So at the first opportunity I am up the side of the house and into her room. I go to her closet and grab a small amount of her clothing, jeans, sweaters, a pair of boots, anything durable and good for travelling. I go to her drawers and pull out a few long sleeved T-shirts and make careful consideration to avert my eyes as I grab handfuls of under things. I stuff it all into the two backpacks I had brought and turn to her dresser to grab her hairbrush and a few of those feminine ruffled things women use to tie off their plaits. I take her sunglasses (why would one even own sunglasses in this godforsaken place?) and two baseball caps I had found in the back of the closet.

I open my senses and search for anything useful.

I find a sock stuffed with money under her bed. We don't need it. I have plenty and rarely use any of it at all, but it is hers and maybe she'll want it so I throw it into one of the bags.

I grab a few of her toiletries, useful to carry. Travelling can get rather dirty and you never know when you will come across a body of water.

I catch a light trace of the boy in the room, but oddly also close to the floor. Leaning to the floorboards I sense it more strongly. I pull up a plank and find more of her things; photos, a CD, her journals, tickets. Oh tickets! Uggh, Jacksonville, throw those back under the floor. I take the rest and push the floorboard back into place.

I head to her bathroom and grab the little can of disinfectant spray and follow my trail back into her room spraying all the way. Not nearly as effective as fire for covering one's trail, but I did just essentially take their daughter, it would add insult to injury if I were to burn down their house.

Back at the cottage, I do my best to tune out her screaming and throw her journals, pictures and the CD in a pilfered garbage bag. Someday, if she unfortunately remembers, if for whatever reason she wants to know, she may want them. So I bury them at the southwest corner of the cottage.

I run back to the white house and shower and change my clothes, still ruined from Laurent. I braid my hair and tie my newly acquired boots (I can't imagine why men's hiking boots were in a room covered in all things pink, but that is the Cullens, I guess)

I run back toward the cottage and notice her heartbeat is slowing. It won't be long now.

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She opens her bright red eyes and is transfixed by the ceiling. Lord, I had forgotten how easily amused we are in the beginning. Not to startle her, I stand unmoving in the doorway and wait until she notices me.

Minutes tick by and she is still drawn into the ceiling so I take a small breath to make my presence known. She flashes to the far wall in a crouch eyeing me warily.

"Who are you?"

"Well, my dear, I would think the more important question would be: do you know who _you_ are?" I counter.

She scrunches her forehead and is trying so hard I am waiting for smoke to come out her ears. It is adorable, but she is getting frustrated. That is dangerous, very dangerous. I don't want her to lose control.

"Come with me," I say as I hold my hand out to her. "And I will explain everything. Mind your grasp though, you are a lot stronger than you may believe."

"Where is he?" she asks, still not rising from her crouch.

"Where is he?" I echo in confusion.

"The boy," She is certainly frustrated now. "The boy with the messy hair and the gold eyes and the smile."

I pause just long enough to look her up and down.

Gone is the broken, ruined child of three days ago. Gone are the once permanent trails of tears on her cheeks. Gone is the heartbreaking dead and absent look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, my dear," I finally say with every ounce of conviction I can muster. "I have no idea to whom you are referring."

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Finally calm and clean enough, I take her out for her first hunting trip. Thank God we are far enough away from the population at large so I can let her have a little freedom. I need to get her filled and just controllable enough to move on. It is dangerous to stay here as long as we already have.

"So you said you killed me but you never said why." As I am learning, now that she is not crying she is asking endless questions. There are times I'm not entirely sure which I prefer.

"You looked too tasty to pass up," I reply with a wink.

She stops walking and looks through me again. How does someone so small have the ability to do that?

"That is not a good enough reason Garrett."

I can't help but laugh as she glares at me so sternly with her hand on her hip.

"Fine, fine you are right, it is not a good enough reason," I admit through my chuckle.

"And..." she ventures waving her little hand in the air.

Why did I do it?

Guilt?

Mercy?

Redemption?

"I was righting a wrong." There, honest enough on more than a few counts.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Oh no, two hands on her hips this time.

"You need a new name; you can't use your real one yet," I blurt out; thank God newborns are easily distracted.

"Well, considering you won't tell me mine, I guess I really don't have a say in the matter do I?" she questions in her adorable little annoyance.

I hold back another laugh.

"No, I suppose you do not. I was thinking Elisabeth," I tell her. Fitting, appropriate all things considered.

"Masen," she replies so quickly it could not be a conscious thought and I freeze instantly. I have heard that name before.

"Masen?" I venture carefully. "Why Elisabeth Masen?"

She scrunches her forehead and looks just as confused as I am.

"I don't know," she finally admits. "It just sounds right."

We are a few miles in when I catch the scent. I know the second she does she will be gone so I give her a warning and let her go. She takes off like a bat out of hell and I keep a respectful distance. No one needs an audience when trying to eat, so I take my time through the underbrush. By the time I reach her she is cowering behind a tree out of sight from her kill.

"Elisabeth, are you alright?" I walk up to her slowly and sit a few feet away.

"It was…it was wonderful but horrible at the same time. How do you do it, how do you deal with the death? The guilt?" she asks not looking up from the forest floor. She is a mess.

Obviously table manners are the next lesson.

"This is the life Elisabeth. This is what we do, why we were created, or evolved. It's hard for almost everyone in the beginning, but you adapt. You cope; you do the best you can. I promise you, soon enough it won't be so hard. It will be easy. As easy as eating your morning eggs, they are all animals when you really think about it." I smile at her, and am rewarded with a small smile of her own in return.

I get to my feet and dispose of the carcass. Be meticulous, just as I had taught her. I reach down and offer my hand.

"I don't know if I want it to be easy," she says taking my hand.

I pull her to her feet. "Nonsense my dear, trust me, you have suffered enough."

And that is the truest thing I have told her yet.

We walk farther into the forest searching for more prey and she starts humming again.

"What is that song?" I ask her. "When you are not trying to annoy me to an impossible death, you are humming that song, and I don't think I have ever heard it before you."

She answers with another forehead scrunch. "Again, I don't know. But when I think of the boy, I hear that song in my head."

We walk for a few more minutes when she turns to me.

"Garrett, will you help me find him? Can you help me find the boy?"

So much hope in her face, so much love for the boy she doesn't even remember.

Will I help you find him?

_No. _

Will I tell you he left because he didn't want you?

_No. _

Will I let him break you again?

_Hell no. Absolutely not. Ever._

I open my mouth to tell her 'of course' when I get lucky.

Thank God at that moment she catches the scent of another solo hiker out enjoying the rare rainless day, and takes off with a fury into the woods.

I need a few minutes to pull myself together.

A week ago I was headed here to visit an old friend and put my feet up.

Now I have a sadistic nutcase on my trail, both Laurent and Bella's blood on my hands (not that Laurent didn't deserve it, of course), the wrath of Cullen to deal with, if and probably when, he finds out. And my very own coven; consisting of myself, and an eighteen year old newborn with morality issues, an undead lover who no longer loves her, once whom she could not even manage to purge from her mind through the change.

This is much more complicated than I had anticipated.

.

.

.

*The French sided with the Americans in the Revolutionary war, therefore Garrett would have a fondness for the French, just not Laurent ; ) And also an obvious distaste for the British.

* Bastard in French. I do not speak a single word of French and got the translation off the internet. Apologies in advance for any inaccuracies.

* Okay, so I have no idea how close to the ocean they really are, but it's late and I'm too damn tired to go research it, so it's my story and I say they are close to the ocean : )

* The names Elisabeth and Joseph were taken from the actual Garrett Harsin's family tree. I could find no record of siblings, so I had used the names of two of his children.


	15. Honesty

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of all Twilight.**

**I own an impressive bruise thanks to a two year old with the speed and accuracy of a major league pitcher and his beloved Nintendo duck hunt gun. But, I do not own Twilight.**

**A quick announcement!**

**Smudge914 in all of her fabulousness opened a thread for For Eternity on the Twilighted Message Boards!**

http://www (dot) twilighted (dot) net/forum/viewtopic (dot) php?f=33&t=2034

Replace the (dot) with a period and delete the spaces and come join us on the thread! I will give teasers for upcoming chapters and answer any questions you have about the story. (there is a snazzy teaser for 16 up there now! )

Smudge, you rock my world and I can't thank you enough!

Also, I forgot to mention in my author's note for the last chapter that the names Joseph and Elisabeth were taken from the real Garrett Harsin's family tree. I could not find a record of his siblings, so I used the names of two of his children. 

**As usual, thank you from the very bottom of my heart for every one of your reviews, I appreciate them so very much!**

For De – who loves me so much she was willing to proof this chapter from the other side of the world,

Beate, who came out of her pain killer coma to read my story (I hope the ankle heals quickly!),

and Dar, who tries her hardest not to laugh when I get excited about finding 'new' music that has apparently been popular forever.

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___**JPOV – (Picks up after Loyalty)**_

"For the last time, no one is calling you Samson!" I can hear Rosalie shout from my place on the back lawn. "He was an idiot and he died for it, is that really the namesake you want?"

"Oh Rosie, you're just jealous she still loves me best," he laughs to her.

"Jealous, Emmett? Have you finally completely lost your mind? Of course I am seething with jealousy that the girl our brother has suffered over, that all of us have suffered over for a hundred and fifty years while she was off doing god knows what, with god knows who, calls you Samson and thinks you still love her."

Her words are harsh, as they often are. But I can feel the sadness radiating off of her.

"How is he?" Esme asks before I can even close the French doors.

"As to be expected, I suppose. I don't know how helpful he'll be," I reply lamely, weighed down by the raging emotions both inside and outside the house.

I walk towards Alice, her head between her hands resting on the table. Her frustration is palatable.

"Alice, can you give us an estimate?" Carlisle asks her. She doesn't raise her head from the table and murmurs, "a little more than an hour."

"What the hell is he doing out there?" Emmett directs at me. I feel his anger building, "Not Dead. Is a Vampire. Still loves him. Go get her. Not complicated, even for Samson." He shoots a glare at Rosalie. "What does he have to think about?"

"Emmett…"

"No, Esme," he cuts her off. "He needs to stop thinking and start doing. I won't let him continue to sit out there and pine over her when he can have her. This," he gestures at all of us, "has gone on long enough."

He jumps to his feet quickly enough to send his chair toppling and starts to pace the dining room.

The anger is boiling over. Emmett never loses control this way. I try to calm him but the second he feels it he turns the fury of his gaze on me. I pull back and let him lose himself to the rage.

"The regrets, the pain, walking on eggshells, never saying her name, never telling the truth lest someone leaves us." He turns to glare at me, "lest someone RUNS OFF TO ITALY!" He yells towards the French doors although Edward is more than able to hear him. "The family falling apart around us, all of this, it ends now."

"You," he turns pointing to his wife. "You were terrible to that girl, and you were terrible to Edward."

She looks up, just as angry as Emmett if not worse. We all cringe in anticipation of the fury of Rosalie.

"No Rose," he cautions. "You were. And I get it, really I do. I got it then, we all did. But that didn't make it right. Despite it all, you know what? She saw through you. She knew you. Knew you were shielding yourself at her expense and you know what else Rosie, she loved you anyway. Every horrible thing you said and did to them both, they still love you."

Rose is just staring at him, mouth agape.

He turns on his heel and faces Esme and Carlisle who lean back at his advance.

"You two should have stopped him."

Esme bows her head with silent sobs and Carlisle is on his feet in front of him in an instant. "Emmett, you are severely out of line, I will not have you upsetting everyone more than they already are, take it outside and cool off."

"No, I'm not leaving until I'm done. Do you want to keep the family you've built, Carlisle? Because it is falling down around you and has been for the past hundred and fifty years and the only way to save it is to knock it down and start over. We can't even stand to be around each other. Every single thing left unsaid has been eating away at each of us while we paste smiles on our faces and pretend it isn't there. It's time to let it out Carlisle, or we lose it all."

His anger at Emmett breaks leaving only remorse in its wake, as Carlisle rakes his fingers down his face and almost looks his 500 years

"I should have stopped him."

"You should have," Emmett agrees. "But you didn't, and you could not have known it would turn out this way. You let your need to give him free will, to show him you trusted him cloud your judgment."

He rests a big hand on Carlisle's shoulder.

"But, this isn't your fault Carlisle, or yours Esme. You could not have known." He turns back to the table and kneels down in front of a still sobbing Esme.

"This isn't your fault. You both have always done the best you could for us. You love us all like your own children. And we know it. Bella knows it. But just like all parents you are not responsible for the mistakes of your children. Let go of the responsibility that isn't yours. "

He tilts Esme's face up by the chin.

"She said you have always been her mother." He is rewarded with a small smile.

He looks up to Carlisle. "She calls you her father, her mentor; she does not blame you for this, Carlisle, and neither does Edward."

He turns and walks over to Alice who pulls her head from the table for the first time tonight. I feel my anger ignite as he leans over but she holds her hand up to me.

"You," he says to her.

Warily she looks up to Emmett's massive form.

"You were so blinded by your desire for another sister, blinded by your visions of an unstable future, you ignored what was happening right in front of you. And that blindness is what caused you to fail them. Alice, you have one foot in the future, one foot in the past and are completely absent in the here and now. You were so concerned with their future you lost the present."

He leans down to her level so he can look her in the eye.

"But, you do not and cannot know everything. We lean on you too much, you know that as well as we do and it is not fair to you. You, Alice, are not now and have never been responsible for the decisions of anyone else or consequences of those decisions. You have a gift, not a curse, and I am so sorry we have used you. It is not your job to bear the burdens of any of our mistakes."

He grabs her small hand.

"They are not your burdens to bear, Alice. She is still your sister, your friend."

He jumps to his feet and starts pacing through the dining room again.

"I treated her as a show, an amusement. I let him leave her and watched him get worse every day and I did nothing. I sat by and let my brother wither away to a shadow of himself because I thought it wasn't my place. I left him by himself to suffer when I should have dragged him home. But still, I did nothing." He is looking at the floor running his fingers through his hair. "I did nothing until he flew to Italy and we were almost too late to save him."

"I should have fought for her," he says more to himself than to us. "I should have fought for him sooner. But, I didn't. I have to live an eternity with that. And if they call me brother still, I can."

He turns back to me and points his finger. "And you, you are just as bad as Edward. You should not have tried to eat her, but god Jasper, we all have to live with the choices we made, while you were at the mercy of what we are and you still can't get past it. She forgave you. Forgave you Jasper, never blamed you for it to begin with. She. Does. Not. Blame. You," he yells, smacking his open palm to the table with each word. "Never did. How many times have we told you, has Edward told you? For the love of Christ, she begs for your forgiveness, begs you to let it go! Would you like to hear it again? Maybe it will sink in this time!" He doesn't wait for a reply and picks up his book.

_If he is reading this now; among all the regrets I carry, never having the opportunity to tell him all this is one of the most painful._

"Emmett…" I warn.

_I am so sorry, so incredibly sorry that my weakness had caused a piece of you to break. _

"Emmett, stop. You are pushing him too far," Alice calls to him, her head back in her hands on the table.

_While there is a part of me that holds tightly to the hope you have given this no more than passing thought through the years, I think I know you well enough to realize that hope is in vain._

"Emmett, so help me…" I feel the control begging to slip. The guilt, the pain, the anger is becoming harder and harder to contain.

_I have never, not for one moment, placed any blame on you. For this or for all that has followed._

"Emmett, please..." I plead. I can't hear it again. I know what it says. How many times had I read it? Over and over hitting me like a punch to the gut.

"Why, Jasper? Why can't you hear it? Why can't you accept it, let it go as she had asked?"

_Please accept my apology and lay this piece of the past to rest. _

By now my head is in my hands as I rock and try desperately to control the sob in my chest and the emotions threatening to bring them all down with me.

"Forgiveness is a funny thing brother, so highly prized, desired so greatly. But, coming from others, to the truly repentant, it is a burden as heavy as the guilt."

"To genuinely forgive, be forgiven, to move on, you have to begin within yourself."

He throws the book down in front of me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Forgive Edward, Jasper. Forgive him for loving her and for being too damn stubborn and selfish to change her. Forgive Bella for being human, forgive your wife for not being able to see it before it happened, and forgive us for not keeping you away from temptation. And for the love of all things holy, forgive yourself. You don't deserve this, Jasper. You never did. It's like she is telling you, you fell victim to fate." The sobbing is shaking my body and I know I have lost all control when I hear the others join in. "Forgive yourself, you don't deserve to suffer brother, Bella and Edward don't want you to suffer. They still love you."

_I love you, my brother, for eternity._

"She still loves us. He still loves us," He says looking up. "They forgive us everything and we need to forgive ourselves and each other." He shoots a pointed glance at me. "We need to let go of the things we did that we should not have done." He looks back to Carlisle. "And we need to let go of the things we should have."

He stands from the place he had taken beside me, grabs his book off the table and after looking each family member in the eye he turns to the French doors.

"I'm going to get Edward, and then we are going to figure out how to find my sister."

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**EPOV**

_Edward_

I hear him announce his approach. Given the tirade I heard from the house I can only imagine what he has in store for me. Not that I could argue either the points he had made or his intentions. Everything he had accused needed to be said, needed to be purged, but that doesn't mean it was easy for anyone to hear.

He sits next to me on the lawn, Bella's book in hand. He stares at the river and begins without glancing in my direction.

"I don't have to tell you how bad you messed up with her Edward, but I do have to tell you why."

I am startled for a moment by his spoken words.

"Please Emmett, enlighten me," I say with a wave of my hand. It comes across sarcastically, but I am trying desperately to detach myself in preparation of whatever Emmett has to say.

"Don't be an asshole, Edward. I'm out here for you. I am here to be the brother I should have been to you all along. There is shit no one else will tell you, shit you don't want to tell yourself that you need to hear. And hell, I'm on a roll tonight…."

He certainly is.

"I know why Emmett. I was trying to protect her," I reply with a bitter tone. How many times have we been through this? How many more times will I have to explain why I created this mess?

"Bullshit, Edward, and you know it, or at least you should."

"Emmett!" I feel the rage rise again. How could he possibly think I had any motivation but her?

"No," he says, finally looking at me. "Let me say my piece and then I'm going back in the house to deal with the wrath I've brought down on myself."

He takes a large unnecessary breath and turns back to the river.

"Edward, you were a coward. You let your fear, your self-loathing take everything that mattered. One of your biggest mistakes was letting anything become more important to you than she was."

"Emmett... That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said. Bella has been the most important thing to me in my 252 years and you know it." I am becoming more angry and unstable by the second. How dare he question my devotion?

"No Edward, she wasn't. When you left her, all you could think about was the danger, all you could think about was saving her humanity. You let her humanity become more important than her," he says quietly, carefully, watching me from the corner of his eye. "You just couldn't let go of the faults you found in yourself. You could never forgive yourself enough, for being what you are, the things you have done and the people you killed to think you deserved her. You let your hatred of yourself become more important than her."

My heart is breaking all over again at his words. Had I really made something, anything more important than her?

"But, she messed up too, Edward. She let her insecurities; she let your lies become more important than you."

How it had eaten at me, how it eats at me still that she could so cavalierly believe every lie I had fed her.

"The two of you were each so convinced you knew the truth, knew what was right, and knew what you 'deserved' that you both missed it. Ignored what had been in front of you the entire time."

"The first thing you need to do is forgive yourself, Edward. You need to let go of everything else you have been holding onto for 252 years and hold onto this, hold on to her with both hands."

How can I forgive the monster I have been? How can I forgive every life that cannot be given back? How can I forgive myself for what I have done to my family? How could I ever forgive what I had done to her?

"If I have learned anything, Edward; through my human life, through this life, through the past hundred and fifty years, it is when you find what you search for, when you find your soul mate, your family, when you find yourself. Edward, you hold onto it. You cling to it with every fiber of your being. You fight for it with every strength you possess and damn the danger and the consequences. "

He is leaning back now, beside me staring at the stars.

"Because that is all you have at the end of every day, at the end of eternity. All you have is the love that makes you the person you should be. And when the danger comes, when the consequences need to be faced, when things get so bad you are dead inside, that love will be your salvation. "

He is right, he is absolutely right. I have learned all too harshly these years without her, without her love there is nothing. Nothing left to me at all but the darkness and the monster and the all encompassing guilt of every single thing I have ever taken that was not mine to take. But when I was with her, when I held her in my arms every other thing had melted away and left only love in its wake.

"She fought for you, Edward. Maybe she was too young then to know she had to fight harder."

He continues despite my epiphany.

"Your biggest mistake, your ultimate downfall, was never letting her save you from yourself."

But, I was supposed to save her, protect her. And I had failed her.

"You need to let her save you. Let her love you, all of you, especially the ugly broken pieces and let her save the soul you always thought you lost."

She is my soul, she always has been. I will never deserve her.

"Emmett, I still don't deserve her," I tell him, hanging my head with my shame.

"No, no you don't," he replies with such conviction my head snaps up.

"But you will," he continues with a smile. "As soon as you decide to be the man she always knew you were."

He gets to his feet and rubs the dirt from his clothing. He reaches down and throws the book in my lap.

"Read it Edward, and let her save you."

He turns back towards the house.

"I'm off to face my wife, god help me, but come in soon so we can start making plans," he calls to me over his shoulder.

His words are running through my mind, changing the way I view everything. He is right, right about all of it. And with that, my insecurities are pulled to the forefront.

"Emmett?" I whisper as he nears the French doors. He pauses and I take that as a sign to continue.

"Emmett," I whisper again. "What if…what if she won't take me back?"

He doesn't turn but I can hear his amused chuckle echo off the house.

"Oh, Edward," he says with a sigh. "She never let you go."

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**Chapter end notes:**

* We know from 'Eve's' warning (Chapter 1) that Bella's book was published in May of 2153. We know from Letter (chapter 8) that it has been almost a year since the book was published. Given that Edward was born in June of 1901 he would be 252 years old.


	16. Part 1: Precipice

**Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer**

**I belong to the best damn group of friends a girl could ask for. (who make me feel better for not owning twilight : ) )**

**A huge thank you to both Closet_Twilighter and Lillie Cullen who were both wary of my story at first and ended up liking it enough to rec it on the best of AU board over at Twilighted. Thank you both so much!**

**Another enormous thank you to everyone who takes the time to review. 4 chapters ago I asked you to help me make it to 100 because we were so close. As I post this chapter, we are 1 review shy of 200! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea just how much every single review means to me!**

**For anyone interested, I have started a FE playlist in my bio. **

**I am so sorry this chapter took so long to get to you. It was hard to write. Edward kicks my ass. Please know this story is never far from my mind, and although updates may take longer than I would like, I will always update!**

**This chapter was sorta- beta'ed by:**

**Bella Swan incarnate - Beate73 **

**De who I love to pieces even though she buys my son toys that make noise.**

**and…**

**The psychedelic Smudge914, the newest member of the twilight posse, who actually beta'ed this chapter on her vacation. **

**Smudge, you rock my world and this one is for you.**

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_**EPOV**_

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I watch Emmett hang his head and walk into the house like a man facing the gallows. All things considered, I suppose he is. I appreciate his efforts more than he probably knows. And, if they don't already, in time the others will as well. With his blunt honesty he had begun to free us all of the burdens we carry and try so desperately to shield from each other. But, I certainly don't envy him now. Rosalie especially is one to hold a grudge.

With Emmett safely, or rather not so safely inside I rise from my place on the river bank and cradle Bella's book in my hands. I cannot stay here. I need to be free from the thoughts of my family, free from their range of hearing, free from the responsibility of shielding my emotions from Jasper. He has suffered enough tonight at my hands; I can certainly spare him the avalanche that is sure to come.

I effortlessly hop the river and continue at a human pace towards the fringes of our property. There is a small cottage half razed and desolate, as old, if not older than I. It is far enough out to grant me the privacy I seek to be alone with Bella and the memories she has granted me.

As I walk slowly towards my refuge, I can't help but think of how my differently I view the curses of my existence since Bella.

Through all of my former 'life' I had believed the worst of my lot, the biggest cross to bear had been the predisposition for violence, the unavoidable, inescapable death, the blood that would always be on my hands, staining the holes where my soul should have been. I was haunted by not only my inexcusable crimes against humanity, but by the monster of bloodlust. Always on the periphery, barley contained and insatiable, constantly threatening to transform me yet again from the civil man I had so desperately tried to maintain, to the demon of nightmares I was by nature.

These chains had served to bind me tighter when I had first loved her. While she had undeniably brought me light and a love I had never dreamed possible, her lifeblood had only increased the power of the demon I held at bay. Enraged him, excited him, empowered him, and made him more of a threat to us both. It was he that made me fear enough to lose the only thing that had ever mattered. It was he that stole my Bella, he that ripped me from the future I had, at one time, dared believe possible for us.

But, when my Bella had…..,

When I had believed my Bella was…..was….

When I thought my Bella had….had died. All of my former curses had paled in the shadows of my immortality, my unwavering awareness.

We would never be together, even in death. I had never dreamed of Bella. I was never granted the opportunity to hold her, just one last time, even in my mind. She was lost to me, lost for eternity.

I could never join her. Even in death our inequality would keep her from me. I tried; lord knows I had certainly tried. But despite my best efforts, another simple truth of my existence would keep Bella from me always.

If I had died as well, the demon would have consumed what was left of me and I would have been condemned to the deepest, darkest pits of hell, where I truly belonged. I would have been left with nothing of her. I would have been far from her and her glorious heaven. Far from the memories I had of her. Far from the image I had kept in my mind of my Bella the beautiful angel, a true incarnation of everything she had been.

Continuing my pathetic excuse of existence I was dead in all but the most important of definitions. But I had my memories, the good and the plethora of bad. And I had that image of her in my still heart. I had some small token of Bella, versus the uncertainty of losing every piece of her.

In the end it was those words, offered as a lifeline by my father as I was pinned by my brothers to the cobblestones of an old Italian alleyway that had brought me back from the ledge.

But then, having been unable to sleep, to dream of Bella became the very worst of the chains that bound me. Had I been human, I would have suffered the same endless heartbreak at the death of my love, but I would have been granted a nightly reprieve. I would have been able to close my eyes and have a few blissful hours to escape the grief. My brokenhearted human self would have seen her. My mind could have created her face; I could have touched her, held her, begged her forgiveness and seen her beautiful smile one more time.

As I suffered so greatly for that 'just one more', it truly would not have mattered that it was only my subconscious offering what I had so desperately needed. I would have been granted her company, my memories relived. I would have had it all, even for a few precious moments as I slept.

Because of these chains, I have remained, every single moment since her 'death', nothing but my loss. There was no relief from the insistent reality that she was gone, gone for eternity, gone because of me.

And although I have, since that day, deserved nothing but the pain, hatred and guilt, what has always consumed me most of all was how very much I missed her.

How when I sat unmoving for days for months and years longing for the death and dreams denied to me, there was always that part of me hating myself with fierce passion for what I had done, there was the more present part screaming for her. Every cell of my cold dead body no longer called for oxygen, water, food. Every molecule of my body had craved, needed only my Bella. I needed to hold her, feel her warm soft skin under my fingers. See her smile, hear her laugh and let it shine her glorious light on the very darkest parts of me. I needed to breathe her. Feel her love, just as I had always, on me, around me, through me, bringing me to life.

But now, today, with all I have learned and all I am on the precipice of learning, I am convinced the very worst of my many prisons is my infallible memory. Knowing now, that she is here, somewhere in the world my Bella is there, living these last hundred and fifty years with the bitter memories of me, of my leaving her, it is all almost too much for me to bear.

There is no past for our kind. Every memory is as fresh as the experience itself. Growth and change are such challenges because things simply cannot be forgotten. How can you move past things that haunt you with fierce clarity?

Every single moment is now as painful as that first day. Every breath I take is the breath I will use to tell her goodbye and set into motion the next century and a half. Every blink is my eyes closing on that last vision of her. Every step I take is the first step away from her all over again.

And that is where my fear lays in waiting. Every moment, every word, every heartbreaking second that I have permanently etched in my mind from that Thursday in September and every empty, meaningless day since will soon be doubled in my mind. I will never, ever be able to rid myself of the truths that await me. As haunted as I have been, my ghosts will soon be cloned. And although I have earned every moment with my stupidity, my selfishness, it genuinely terrifies me.

I am terrified by, so very much worse than the fear of my ghosts, the very thought of hers.

Have I also bound her to this endless awareness, this consistent pain, the unwavering reminders of all I had ever done to her? Has Bella, my beautiful Bella, my light, my love suffered at my hands for these past years? For all of my internal wars of right and wrong, my fear for her, my endless self hatred, my pointless sacrifices; have I managed to damn her so much worse than I had ever thought myself capable?

How is that something I could ever forgive, ever move past?

If her pain has come close to the endless rage of mine, I don't believe I can.

I eye the book in my hands with a caution reserved only for fire.

I know the answers to my questions lay at my fingertips, patiently awaiting discovery. But what if…. what if I cannot bear the answers I find?

What if… what if… Emmett is wrong? What if…, if.., what if she no longer loves me? What if there had been a point she had reached where she had finally realized what a selfish, dishonorable monster I had truly been and decided I was no longer worth her affections? What if she had realized, as I have, that I alone am the reason for her pain, her misery?

What if she hates me as thoroughly as she should?

There is still that part of me that craves anything of Bella's. I will take her pain and her memories and her hatred, if understandably, that is what I find, simply because it is hers. And any piece of her, even her hatred, is better than the nothing I have been living, no not living, I have not been living at all, any piece is better than the nothing I have been barely existing with.

What if…… please, god help me …what if there is someone else? Someone who had given her all the things I always should have, and protected her from all I had only lay on her shoulders?

That may genuinely be nothing short of all I deserve.

But immortal or not, I don't believe I will be able to survive it.

I am more afraid than I have ever been.

And although I hate myself even more for it, I am ecstatic, am I thrilled, I am flying higher than I ever have, because she is alive, well maybe not alive, but she is here, somewhere in this world. She may be suffering greatly and yet, I still celebrate in my selfishness, the fact she still exists at all.

I carefully enter the cottage, dodging the debris and find a clear corner. I settle myself in the space that will become either my tomb or the place of my rebirth and take a breath. I look to the mostly clear sky as offer a silent prayer to whichever deity may be listening. Please, although I deserve nothing, no mercy, yours or hers, please let these words lead me back to my only love. Please guide me to her; please lead me back to Bella.

I turn back to her book, and with one more unnecessary breath, I study the cover for the first time and I am truly amazed at what she has done.

She has, in that image, captured our history.

It is us. My beautiful Bella and it is every emotion that I have faced since the first moment I had loved her.

The apple, that perfect red apple is Bella, a perfect symbol of her innocence, her purity, her light.

For those few months, the best of my existence, I was that ocean. I was that relentless tide pulling her towards me, needing her, needing her love as I had needed nothing before. The purity of her trust in me, her smile, her kisses, I had pulled it towards me with a fierce fury to rival any ocean in the world. I had been the riptide pulling her from the safety of the shores, drawing her farther into the water, wanting nothing more than to drown her in my expansive love for her.

And in the next breath I would push her, like the endless waves of that ocean. Pushing her away from the danger, the loss, the horror of my existence and all I was. Pushing her towards the salvation she could not see for herself. Trying as desperately as I would pull her towards me, to push her away from the darkness I would be sure to bring on her. I would see in those fleeting moments every single thing that I would surely destroy.

And my love for her paled in the shadows of all there was for her to lose.

And so I would vacillate. Drawing her to me, craving her, needing her and pushing her saving her, protecting her as well as knew how.

And the clouds had rolled in on her birthday. And I had realized with no uncertainty, that this ocean, this riptide, this push and pull of right and wrong, want and need, desire for her, desire for her safety was all consuming.

I could see so clearly all that lay ahead for her, her destruction at my hands.

And I had to protect her. My light, my truth, my love, I could not sacrifice everything my Bella was for me, for what I so reverently needed. I could not be so selfish, I could not let my love, my need of her be the things that destroyed her.

So in the moments I lied to the only love I ever held, in the moment I betrayed every love she held for me, in the moment I shattered the man she thought she knew, the storm fell full force upon me and holds me still.

The ever present love I still keep for her clashes passionately with my sacrifice, my shame, my regret, my pain. Crashing as violently as the thunder itself, ringing from the distant shores with the furious echo of my loss.

The brief moments my love surges through like the lightening. Striking through my body and cracking me in half.

The raging war in my mind, my heart, the lighting piecing through me, cumulates with the downpour of my misery. It is raining down upon me; every empty, meaningless moment without her, staining me black with my sins against her, drowning in the darkness that has consumed me, drowning me for the past century and a half.

I don't know how long I stare at that cover, amazed by how well she had always known me.

And my fear increases tenfold.

If a simple image can cut through me this way and bring me to my knees, how can I handle her words, her memories, her messages to me?

What message has she sent?

Will I find that hatred I so thoroughly deserve? The hatred that will cement my place in this purgatory of my own design? Is she still lost to me as eternally as I had believed all these years?

Will I find her forgiveness in addition to the proof of the pain I have caused her? Will I find the words that lead me home to her, lead me to salvation?

Do I dare to dream for that? Do I deserve to?

I pause with the cover half open in my hands. And, I accept the enormity of what awaits me. I take another breath and picture my beautiful Bella in my mind.

Fate may have tied our destinies together, but one hundred and fifty one years ago that innocent, incredible, beautiful girl had the faith to put her life in my hands.

And although I have no doubt I have mangled it terribly, tonight I take that first step, as Emmett had said, to be the man she always thought I was.

In this moment I right the first of my many wrongs. In this moment I begin on the long and broken road to my redemption.

In this moment, I have the faith in her I should have always had before, and I lay my trust, my future, my heart and my life in Bella's hands.

And I hope with all I am worth that I am not too late.

_May 17, 2153_

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_Dearest Reader,_

_Come, pull up a chair and sit by me…._

Top of Form


	17. Part 2: Torch

**Stephenie Meyer Owns Twilight.**

**I own a gorgeous eternity ring courtesy of my bestest friend in the whole wide world. (but no Twilight)**

Hi All! So sorry this chap took forever to get to you. Real life + Writer's Block + Sick Kid + New Story = really long wait for this chapter. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again!

What? What is that? A New story? Why yes! Yes it is! A LIFE UNDONE is a AU/AH/OOC multi chapter story and as with FE I try to do something you haven't seen a hundred times already. (well, minus the Twilight stuff of course, I mean that kinda _is_ the point!) Go check it out!

Also, ShinyVolvo3575 made an amazing banner for this story. Seriously, it's gorgeous! Go check it out and play with us on the Twilighted Forum!

http://www (dot) twilighted (dot) net/forum/viewtopic (dot) php?f=33&t=2034&st=0&sk=t&sd=a&start=40

Finally, (yeah, I know shut up 'cause you have been waiting long enough for this one) I just want to thank you all again for your awesome reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your feedback. Even the ones where you didn't love something. Not only do I want to be a better writer, but I want to give you what you want in this story. And that is a lot easier to do with your thoughts!

On that note, (and I swear this is the end of my ranting) this is the other half of the EPOV. For the few of you who weren't crazy about the last one; this one probably won't float your boat either, but I can promise you the future holds Storm, Bella and everyone's favorite: Garrett. Upcoming chapters will answer a very big question that has been on your minds. (and in my inbox) Although, you just may need all three POVs before you really know how big of a ummm…._complication_…it really is!

As always, a huge thank you to Smudge – my new official beta extraordinaire. If you can read it, thank smudge!

**For Smudge, ShinyVolvo and Terri, the best friends I've never met (IRL).  
: )**

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_Even now, I would sacrifice every happiness that remains to see that smile grace his perfect face just one more time._

_He would be worth it still._

She lives on…..lives on for me?

Can I possibly be reading that correctly?

I read it again.

He would be worth it still?…..I would be worth it…..she thinks I am worth it.

I jump to my feet and throw my head back and laugh.

I laugh for the first time in a hundred and fifty years.

The glory of those words washes over me and I feel a joy I never thought I would feel again. She loves me! Me! After everything! She loves me still! Emmett was right!

I don't know how. I can't imagine why she still loves me. I can barely believe it is possible. I do not deserve it.

But I don't care! I do not care how impossible it is! I do not care how little I deserve it, because she loves me!

I flip through her book at an inhuman speed. Where is the index? I look down the chapters but there are no clues. Why could she not have labeled a chapter: 'How Adam can find me, because I still love him?' I need to find her. I need to find her now. Why would she not have made it easier to find her?

Okay, okay, I need to gain control of myself. Calm down. Breathe.

But, I have no need to breathe.

Right, of course, but breathing is calming. I need to be calm.

How can I breathe? She loves me!

Yes, yes, she loves me but, if I do not calm down I can't find her.

Okay, okay, I am calm. Calm and collected.

I am grinning ear to ear but, I am calm.

It has to be in here somewhere. I just have to find it. The rest doesn't matter. The rest I can work with. All that matters is she loves me.

Except……

Except………if that had been all that mattered to her would she really have written a whole book? It cannot be all that matters to her.

I don't want to read the rest. I don't want to hear the rest.

I just want her back, back in my arms where she belongs. Where she knows she has always belonged.

But if she really knew that where has she been all these years? Wouldn't she have come back to me if that is the way she had felt?

No, no, I owe her this. She has written it to me and I owe her so much. The very least I can do is read it; despite my desire to track her down this very moment, to not stop running until she is in my arms.

She had said her pain knows no boundaries, as does her love. So her love for me is unending?

Maybe that is not the context she had intended. Maybe it is a love she will always hold but has no intention of returning to? Maybe that love is nothing more than a memory.

No, no, that can't be right. What had Emmett said? _She never let you go_. That must to be the truth.

But…what if….what if that is not her choice. What if she had every intention of letting go and was trapped by her memories?

I groan as I drop my head to the book. This is torture. What can I make of these riddles? How can she say so much and still tell me nothing at all?

Okay, I can do this. I can figure this out and find her. What evidence do I have?

Adam? Obviously she had to use an alias, but Adam? Is it as simplistic as being the cause of her fall from grace? Could there be someone else with the name of Adam?

No, no I am being ridiculous. It is me, of course it is me. It has to be me. And she loves me. She says she loves me still.

She would sacrifice all she has left for me. Again.

Is that what she expects of me, to steal her remaining happiness? How could she love me if that is the case? Is that a testament to her love or a sign of her awareness of my selfishness? Is it nothing more than a prophecy that I will take all she has left?

…_.Angels of Death._

Well, that is the most obviously true thing I have ever read.

_There are thirteen Guardians as far as I know. I would hope in the world at large there are far more, but given the nature of their species in general, I'm not optimistic._

Thirteen Guardians?

We are seven, who are the remaining six? The Denali coven is five, but she had known little of them. She had known they were a coven of vegetarians but as far as I am aware, she did not know their numbers. She had known of Tanya, Irina and Kate. We had spoken of them but not of Carmen or Eleazar. And they had no knowledge of her when Carlisle had called. They had never seen her, heard of her in Denali. So who would the remaining three be? Could she have found another coven? Could there be a coven of three that had managed to evade our detection? Could she be with them? Could she have found a mate amongst them?

No, no, no, I have to stop. I have to stop this. I know of no other coven and I have her mated to one of them in my mind. This is not helpful. This will not lead me to her. I have to stop letting myself run with the pieces she has left. She will tell me. I have to be patient and she will explain it all. Patient, right, I can do patient, and calm.

_Abraham, Sarah, Rachel, Samson, David, Deborah...._

Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, Alice…

My family, our family.

How well she had seen them all; so much more than I would have ever believed. She knew them all so well, seen them as they truly are.

She had known her family, the family that I alone had broken apart.

They had tried to be understanding, of course. Not only of why I believed I had to make the choice I did, but how I could not remain among them.

I could not see them, see them all and remember. They tried; there is no doubt they all certainly tried. There came a point where they would barely touch, barely speak to their mates in my presence.

They thought I could not be around them because of their happiness. The happiness they found in each other; the happiness of their love. The simple truth has always been that I could not bear to look at them and see the ghosts of mine.

I cannot see Emmett smile without seeing him smile at my Bella and swing her around in a hug that steals her breath. I cannot hear his booming cheerful laugh without hearing it a hundred times in my head; him laughing for her and her always generous laugh in return.

I cannot see Jasper with his guilt. I cannot bear to be reminded of the reason for it. I cannot see him try so hard to keep his restraint. So desperately try to hold to his humanity without seeing the sacrifice he had made for me, for her, for our family.

I cannot see Carlisle or Esme hugging anyone of us without seeing their arms around her. I cannot stand their look of love for their family without seeing that look for my Bella, the daughter I had given them and stolen away.

I cannot see Alice without seeing Bella beside her. If I had not staked my claim on her time, they would have been inseparable. How sure she had been of that bond from the beginning. How she had loved, continues to love Bella nearly as much as I. How convicted she had been of my path and how destroyed she had been when she had been proven wrong. How destroyed she continues to be.

Even Rosalie, I cannot bear Rosalie most of all. In her face I see the proof of the sister I never gave her the chance to love. The sacrifice I had once naively believed I had only cursed myself to, which so thoroughly damned us all.

I am haunted by them themselves, not the love they have for each other. She remains in some form in each one of them. I cannot look at them without seeing the ghost of Bella; always on the periphery, reminding me constantly of all I have lost, all I had thrown away.

I had always believed her perceptive, but she had seen so much more in each of them than I had ever expected. She had been able to see through every pretense. Well, every pretense but the one that mattered most.

She had seen them with such clarity. How would she have she seen me after I had stolen it all from her?

_Adam, my love, my only love, how do I describe him objectively? How do you explain the other half of yourself?_

Her only love; can I dare to hope she has found no other in a century and a half?

_Adam is a light in the dark. He is beautiful, so beautiful it hurts to look away. He is the sun, he is the moon, he is the North Star that guides me home. Adam is every glorious thing that has ever graced the earth. He is the pure fresh burst of air, the crystal clarity of water, the fierce fury of fire; he is the earth that grounds me. He is strong, self assured, convicted, so much more than he ever gives himself credit for. He is brilliant but modest. He is self sacrificing beyond reason. He is the cadence of my heart, constant, unwavering, absolute. He is my strength, my will. Adam is my ability to go on._

_Adam, I carry you with me, every step, every breath, every day break and twilight I keep you beside me for eternity._

I throw the book aside and curl back into my ball. How could she say these things? I am the monster that stole her life from her, the family she has lost. I alone have caused the pain and the emptiness that consumes her. And still I am her sun, her moon? How could she say this? How could she think this? Her pain I had prepared for, her hatred I had expected. But her love? Her pure love and her praise? Her flattery? Her unsheltered adoration for the man that destroyed her? All that she still offers in spite of all I have done is too much, too much for me to bear.

Had I not hoped for love? Had I not rejoiced moments before in reading of her love?

Yes, yes of course, I had, of course I do. But not like this. Not unwavering, not absolute, not undeserving. I can attempt to make up for all I have done. I can spend centuries on my knees begging her forgiveness. I can throw myself to her mercy with proclamations of my love every day for the rest of eternity. But I cannot accept it when I have done nothing to redeem myself.

Self sacrificing? I am the most selfish creature to grace the earth and she calls me self sacrificing?

How can she love me this way, continue to love me at all after all I have done?

But……… but would I not still love her the same? Would I not love her more? Is she not still my sun, my moon, my reason for existing?

Yes, but she had done nothing to me; nothing but love me……

……….as much as I loved her?

No, no, that is impossible.

She had been human, a human child. She could not have.

But…she….she had.

She had loved me as I had loved her. This is my proof, proof of that love a hundred times over. And if she had loved me that same way then she would have suffered as I have…….I drop the book as though it is on fire.

Her words cut through me, burn me.

She carries me with her; with her in the hole in her chest that I alone have created. Yet I am the cadence of her still heart.

I can't…..

I just….

I don't understand.

No, no, I do not want to admit it, but….I…. I do understand.

I have underestimated her.

Always.

From the very beginning I had underestimated her and I have continued to.

How could I have been so stupid, so unobservant?

Wasn't it I that had dreamed of every _Yes_ she had ever given me?

Do you know what I am?

_Yes_

Could you love me anyway?

_Yes_

Do you love me?

_Yes_

Love me?

_For Eternity_

And what had I ever given her in return? A series of _No_, rejection, over and over, I had rejected her.

She had offered me everything; everything she had and everything I had ever wanted. Time and time again, I had denied it and told her no.

She had offered me her body, her soul, her eternity. Yet because I had been so consumed with what she stood to lose, all she would give up, I had rejected every miraculous and beautiful gift she had ever offered me.

Over and over, I had told her no.

What would she have seen?

That I did not want it: her body, her soul, an eternity with her.

How it had eaten me alive, these last 150 years that she had believed my lies so easily. How could I have lied so well to where she would believe I could in exist in any mark without her? How could she so quickly discard every proclamation of love I had bestowed upon her with a few simple words?

Seeing so clearly now every rejection I had offered; how could she not?

She had loved me as desperately, as hopefully, as all consuming as I had loved her. But I had told her 'no' a hundred times, rejected her, and left her.

Yet she loves me still.

I should have changed her, the very first time she had asked. I could have done it, I should have done it. Why hadn't I? Just as Emmett had said; I was stupid and selfish and so damned convinced I it was I that had known better. But the choice was hers, should have always been hers. I did put her humanity before her just as he had accused. Just another example of how I had singlehandedly destroyed everything.

I still do not deserve her. I never will deserve her.

But, what else had Emmett said? _You will, once you become the man she always knew you were._

This will not lead me to her. This will not make me deserve her. I have to be what she wants. I have to be all that she needs. I have to earn back the love I don't deserve even if she offers it willingly. I must earn back _her_ trust. I cannot accept it until I know I deserve it.

I grab the book from the ground and try desperately to have the faith. To have the faith she will tell me, that through her story she will guide me. And this time, now, I will listen.

_Although my younger self would argue, in the moment he broke my heart and shattered my soul, he made the choice I could not, he sacrificed himself, my love for him, all that was and all that should have been, for my salvation._

Has she known this all along? Is this why she can forgive me? Is this why she loves me still? Can she forgive me her pain knowing every sacrifice I had made was done, however much in vain, for her?

_In the end it was that, not him my dear reader, which proved to be my undoing._

_Not you my love, it was never you. From the very beginning it was me._

How can she believe for one moment that any of this was her fault, her mistake? How could she ever bear the blame for this?

Oh my love, my Bella. How could you ever shoulder the burdens of my mistakes?

_And then I was presented with an opportunity, a ridiculous, dangerous, and as I know now, selfish opportunity. I could end this game on my terms; sacrifice myself in exchange for them. I could let them continue on, morals intact as if I had never entered their lives and created so much upheaval. I could give them back everything I had stolen from them and end the madness. As I had believed then, the opportunity was mine; I could give my life for his._

_So in an incredibly misguided and thoroughly unconsidered attempt at valiancy, a nonsensical sacrifice based on my love, I took it._

That is why she had gone? We had always believed it was for her mother, had the motivation really have been me? She was willing to spare her life for our morals?!? She had gone to spare my life? I had gone willingly to fight for hers and she had believed she had been doing the same?

_In a moment of incredible self restraint, for which I am still proud, Adam saved me a second time._

Did she not know how close I had come to killing her? How that reprehensible part of me had desired her blood to the point I had to struggle desperately to break my hold? How could she have ever been proud of that?

I can't help but shake my head in disgust. Yet another chance I had wasted to have her for eternity, yet another example of my putting her humanity above my love. How horrified I had been at the thought of her losing that life; how little I had known of the true pain of existing without her.

_For a few precious moments she is just a girl, and he is just a boy, nothing between them but love. The future stretches out endlessly in front of them, a promise, a ring, a white picket fence, two beautiful blonde babies, grey hair on a porch swing surrounded by grandchildren, a gentle goodnight after lives well lived, an eternity in heaven._

I lean my head back against the decaying wall. With a sigh, I bring forth the memories of that night, of holding her tightly in my arms. I have not thought of this night in one hundred and fifty years. A forbidden memory guaranteed to leave me motionless for months.

How beautiful she had looked that night, my sweet Bella. How she had gone only to appease me. Yet again I had disregarded her wishes; insisting it was I that had known better. Even my most cherished memories are now tainted by my selfishness, my stupidity.

How can I ever dream of having her, holding her again when I ruin everything I touch?

_I am so sorry, so incredibly sorry that my weakness had caused a piece of you to break. While there is a part of me that holds tightly to the hope you have given this no more than passing thought through the years, I think I know you well enough to know that hope is in vain._

_I have never, not for one moment, placed any blame on you. For this or for all that has followed._

_Please accept my apology and lay this piece of the past to rest. I love you, my brother, for eternity_.

How we had all tried to convince him he was not to blame. Years upon years, Japer had been consumed by his guilt. How it had torn him apart since that night despite my assurances that it was only I to blame. I can only hope he will finally find peace in her forgiveness.

Can I dare to hope we can all find our redemption?

_As I sat on the floor of their home, surrounded by the evidence of my mistakes, I could not stop the shame and disgust that had overwhelmed me. Not only had my selfishness, again, claimed a piece of their happiness, but this time I had caused a rift among them, a small yet tangible fissure, illustrating yet again the utter hopelessness of our situation._

I feel the rage overcoming me again. How could she blame herself for this as well? Her selfishness?!? Jasper had tried to bite her, I had thrown her into a table, into the broken glass and she sees herself as selfish?!?! How had she ever been selfish? She still remains blind to herself. Still shoulders the blame for things beyond her control. Is that how she remains able to love me still? By blaming only herself for the damage I caused by my hands, my blindness, my stubborn stupidity?

_I know now that in those perilous moments the universe had given us the undeniable proof that our love, as extraordinary as it may have been, was simply not enough._

_I can finally see that now, painfully clearly I'm afraid; but much to the detriment of that pure, innocent and hopelessly in love little girl, he saw it then._

_While I had known, according to my diaries, that something was amiss in his mind since that night, I was not aware just how thoroughly it had consumed him. His confidence in himself, in us was shattered. At his insistence we had walked into the woods. I had planned to comfort him, reassure him that my love for him would be enough overcome any obstacle, to sustain us._

_I knew not the decisions he had made, that the universe had already convinced him and before I had even spoken my first words, I had failed._

And again, she is right. She is absolutely right. I had, after Jasper had attacked her, lost my ability to believe I could protect her. I could not even keep her from danger in my own home. And that is all I saw, her destruction in my hands, by my hands. And again, I had denied the most simple of solutions. The one she had begged for; the one I had privately longed for. I had again denied her, denied myself, and set us both up for destruction so much worse than I had ever believed possible.

I pause to bang my head on the stone walls. Although I know the wall will sustain the damage, I can only hope the effort will be as cathartic as the result.

"Stupid, stupid, blind, selfish, proud, stupid, arrogant, stupid." A bounce against the wall timed to each word.

I had only ever seen all she had to lose. And it was she who all along had seen all that we would have gained.

How could I have been so blind?

_In the ultimate show of both compassion and cruelty, he used every weakness I possessed, every insecurity only he was privy to, and he told me that I was not enough. He confirmed every silent, nagging, secret doubt my mind had ever considered._

I had been cruel; cruel to her, to my love, to my light. She had shown me nothing but love and I had been cruel.

In that cruelty, I had been a monster; a monster so much worse than the one that had formerly haunted me. I had been so concerned with shielding her from the monster I knew, I had been completely unaware of the monster I had become. That is all I was, all I have been; a monster and the ghost of a boy. A green-eyed, seventeen year old boy who all along had loved her and had known better than I. He had loved her with wild abandon and I had believed he would be strong enough to control the monster beside him. In the moment I had doubted him, doubted myself, and my ability to love her and protect her, I had ultimately destroyed them both. I had destroyed her and, just as thoroughly, I had destroyed every piece, ever incarnation of myself.

I am on my knees now, in the cottage with her book in front of me. My hands claw into the dirt, as if a hold on my current reality would be enough to keep me from this memory. But I know better. I know what is coming. I know what it feels like to relive this memory detail by painful detail, but the pain does not subside despite preparation. There is no diversion from this onslaught. I am panting with the exertion of holding myself together. I am stone. I am steeling myself against the horror of reliving this.

The memory breaches my weary control. I see her standing in front of me. I see her heart shatter in front of me. I see the fire leave her eyes as I break her, break myself, and break everything that had ever mattered.

The pain blinds me, binds me to this harsh remembrance. I lose her words, her memories, and am consumed in mine.

"**Bella, we're leaving."**

No, no, stop. Please, stop. Don't say it, please don't say it….

"**I mean my family and myself."**

Just stop, stop now. I command myself. As if I could, as if I could stop it now. As if I could take it back.

"**It's not the right place for you."**

And she is begging now. Begging me to stop as I lay crouched and choking on the other side of time begging myself along with her. Please, please stop while you still can. Please, please don't say it, don't say it. I cannot bear to hear it again…..

My stomach twists and, although impossible, I retch. I choke on her pain and mine.

"**My world is not for you"**

I choke harder on the sobs breaking out through my chest.

No, no, no, no more, I can't hear anymore. I cannot bear this again…..

"**Bella, I don't want you to come with me."**

No, no Bella, please, please don't believe me. My heart is screaming to her. Tell me you are coming with me. Tell me you won't let me go. Please, Bella, please, please tell me you love me. Please Bella, love, please, just once, tell me you love me and tell me I'm wrong. Please, please tell me I'm wrong and I will believe you. I will believe you this time….

Oh Bella, please Bella, stop me….

"**You're not good for me, Bella**_**."**_

Please love, oh no, no please tell me to stop. Bella, please stop me. Stop me. Tell me you love me. Please, please tell me you know. Be strong for me Bella, be stronger than me. Stop me, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me please, tell me you love me. Just once more, just once tell me you love me too much to let go….

I see her fall to pieces in front of me. I reach out to her. I reach out to hold her now. Hold her in my arms and keep her there. I reach for her with all I am worth but the shadow of myself remains unmoving. He remains stone and steeled to the decision that will ruin it all.

She is breaking, crumbling, falling apart and I hear my screams echo from the stone.

No, no please no. Not again…

"**Goodbye, Bella"**

Don't leave. Don't go. Oh Bella, oh please, please love, don't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go….

"**Take care of yourself"**

No! No, no! The screaming is deafening. Don't, oh please don't, don't turn, don't move. Don't leave her…..

Oh Bella, my Bella, I'm sorry, so sorry, oh Bella, Bella forgive me, oh please forgive me my love, don't, oh please don't, don't leave, don't leave her, don't let me leave….

Just like that day, that Thursday a hundred and fifty years ago I feel the exact moment my still heart shatters into a million small pieces. Until this moment I would not have believed I could break any further than I already have.

From my knees again I scream into the night. The pain, the regret, and the still insurmountable love I have for her is too much; too much for my body, my mind to contain.

I am burning now; burning with shame. I am consumed by the flames of my guilt, my never ending guilt and my self hatred.

I am doubled over now; my fingers digging into the damp earth, trying desperately to keep some form of myself grounded as the fury of my regrets consume me.

So very much worse than the burning of my change.

I am screaming and sobbing and choking on my pain, my regrets. I am tearing at the earth as I wish to tear apart myself. I scream over and over through the sobs, trying and failing to purge the pain, the hate the raw force of these memories.

My pride is gone. I am gone. I am nothing but this, this memory, this pain, this burning is all consuming. I am drowning, and I do the only thing I can think to do. I reach for a lifeline, something to ground me, hold me here before I burn beyond salvation.

"Jas," I choke through the sobs.

My head in my hands in the dirt, I am shaking now, sobbing, struggling for my breaths. I am trying desperately to reach him, reach them, reaching for the hands that had been offered so many times. Reaching for them as I had been too ashamed, too proud, too stubborn to have ever done before.

"Jas, please….," I beg into the dirt, although I know I am too far for him to hear, too far for him to feel.

I am too far gone to be saved.

I fight to pull in another breath to call for him when I am knocked farther into the dirt with the force of his weight and his calm. I can feel the struggle, the war of the pain pouring out of me violently colliding with the raw strength of the numbness he is so desperately trying to push onto me. I feel him shaking with the strain, choking on his own regrets behind me.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I killed her. I did this. I'm sorry_

I can hear him, and this mantra through his thoughts.

I killed her. I did this. Not him, I killed my Bella.

As he fights my emotion and his own thoughts, I can feel his guilt, his pain, his regret all slipping beyond his control. His emotions are meeting mine, melting together and slowly consuming us both. He is still fighting, still struggling as the guilt overwhelms me. This is what I have done; to her, to my family, to him. I have pushed him too far and in my selfishness damned him more thoroughly than ever before. I have now damned him to this burning, damned him to suffer beside me.

Breath for breath, sob for sob, step for step, his guilt matches mine and overcomes us. And I cry harder for my brother. My brother, who has blamed himself, hated himself with a fury to only equal mine. A moment, an hour, a day, a thousand years, he holds tightly to me as we burn in the unending hell of our pain. Yet still, he struggles to share with me me every small measure of comfort he has left.

I feel the last of the calm slip away. The pain, the burning of our combined guilt then rages stronger than ever before as his focus changes and he flips through memories in his mind with a blinding speed. Despite our struggles, the war we are losing and the hurt that consumes me, I freeze the moment he pulls a memory to the front.

_Bella._

_Bella standing by the gym doors, the red flare to her cheek as I run my fingers across her cheekbones._

Before I can feel the increase in pain I know this memory should bring, I feel the weak ghosts of the emotion caught in that moment, radiating off of him.

_Hope….Love…Desire_

His shaking and his breathing intensify with his efforts as he pulls forth another memory.

_Bella by my side at the piano, meeting Carlisle and Esme…._

_Hope….Love…Pride_

His grip on me tightens as his memories and emotions become stronger.

_Bella watching us play baseball._

_Hope…Love…Joy_

"Help me," he growls into my ear. With that, I realize he is offering us lifeline we both so desperately need by giving me his memories of her, his memories of us, memories of our hope, our love.

_Bella at the bottom of the stairs in her blue dress._

_Hope….Love….Admiration_

I lose myself in that memory of her. I breathe through as much of the pain as I can manage and I lose myself in her sweet smile, her blush, the love that had swelled in my chest the moment her eyes met mine. Feeding off my hold on her, on the hope and love, he pulls up another memory, stronger clearer than the preceding ones.

_Bella clinging to my back laughing as we race Emmett and Jasper through the woods._

_Hope…Love…Happiness._

It has been so long since I have felt them so strongly; so long since I have genuinely felt them at all. I can do nothing but hold tightly to these emotions he is giving me and try to pull my mind from the Hell swirling around us.

_Bella, Emmett and I laughing in the kitchen, pancakes stuck to the ceiling the pan still in his hands._

_Hope….Love…Humor_

The memories come more quickly; more clearly, more intensely as I cling to my brother, the salvation he is offering and the love I have for her.

_Bella and Alice in her room clothes all around them laughing._

_Love_

_Bella sitting in Carlisle's study hearing the stories of his travels._

_Hope_

_Bella and Esme in her office, pouring over the blueprints of her latest project._

_Love_

The screaming is quieting, the sobbing is slowing, and I am able to grip more tightly to each emotion surging through his memories.

_Bella at the piano, leaning against me as I play her lullaby._

_Love_

_Bella running and jumping into my arms as I come home from hunting._

_Love_

_Bella kissing me on the porch._

_Love _

The pain claws back to the surface and my breath catches yet again when I realize this was her birthday. She had kissed me on the front porch right before we had entered the house. I feel the small control we had gained slipping away as the burning surges at the memory of our last real kiss, the last kiss not tainted by all would happen just minutes later.

I hear his teeth lock together, feel his hold on me, his hold on his memories and his shaking intensify as he fights against the new rage of my emotion.

"Help me," he forces out again through his battle.

But I am losing myself again, losing my focus, losing my hold on her and all that we were, all we should be still. I am losing every step we had gained.

He pulls forth another memory, weak, brittle and diluted.

_Emmett sitting on the grass with Rosalie in his lap….._

_Love_

_Carlisle holding Esme standing behind them….._

_Love _

"Let go!" He roars from behind me as he pulls the fragmented memory together. I can feel the moment he begins to release his own guilt, his own pain. I feel it slowly drain from him drop by drop, step by step, as he increases the strength of the emotions the clarity of these memories of all of us.

_Jasper pressing the buttons on the camera and flashing to Alice's side beside to Emmett…_

_Love_

Every ounce of my pain, every second of heartbreak is met by the force of his effort. Every step the fire gains is pushed back by my brother's love, by the ghosts of my love for her.

_Bella on Carlisle's other side, arms wrapped around my waist, her head resting on my chest as I lean down to kiss the top of her head as the camera flashes._

_Love_

_Our family and the picture that once hung over the mantle._

_Love_

He holds the image of that picture in his mind and I draw on the strength of the love captured there. Slowly, with the greatest of effort I pull back the fingers of the pain that has held tightly to my heart.

_We are happy, complete, perfect._

_Our family as it was._

_Love_

_Our family as it can be again._

_Hope_

_Our family as it will be again._

_Peace_

With a newfound strength I pull my own memory of that day in my mind.

_Freesia, strawberries…Love_

_Her burning hot skin beneath my hands…Love_

_Her sweet laugh echoing from the trees…Love_

"Let go!" He growls to me again.

_The smile lighting up her face…Love_

I feel her love, his, mine replacing the pain in my chest as I tear it away from the place it has held since that day in September.

I see the pain in my hands and for the first time I realize I have held as tightly to it as it has to me. That pain was all I had left of her. It had been the only constant and unwavering proof that she had existed, that she had loved me. That I still loved her.

_Her warm brown eyes looking up at me…Hope, Love, Adoration._

_My past, our past… and our future._

_Our future._

_Together._

I can have it; I can have that future, I can have her. I can let it all go; release the pain and release the past and reach for her. I feel the last of it slip through my fingers; the pain, the loss, the regret and I pull her to me, her love, her hope, our future.

The emotions rise through us like a tsunami and they throw us apart.

The calm washes over us as we lay panting on opposite ends of the rubble. And for the first time in a hundred and fifty years the storm has cleared, the ocean has settled. I look up and reach my brother's eyes as the ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

I can only nod and as I feel the long forgotten smile on my own face, for the first time in too long I genuinely mean it.

"You?"

"Yeah." He replies. And I can feel the peace, the freedom radiating off of him.

"How?"

"Alice." He answers, before tilting his head back and letting the peace engulf us both again.

We sit for a few minutes before I break the silence. "Thank you."

_Edward, You're welcome, and I thank you _is his only reply, as his mind goes blank again and the contentment reaches me.

And I am content.

Because I know now that I love her more than I have regrets. I love her more than her humanity. I love her more than all of my mistakes. I love her more than one hundred and fifty years, more than any pain can weaken. And that is all I need. That is how I can forgive, how I can let go.

I love her more.

She has already saved me many times over. And I will save this. I will search the world and I will find her. I will hold her in my arms and tell her I love her every moment until the end of time. I will make her happy every day for the rest of our long lives.

We will be stronger than our past.

We will be together again.

_Are you ready? _ I hear him call. I look up to see him standing in front of me holding her book in one hand while the other is outstretched towards me. I grab his hand and let him pull me to my feet. And I know that for the first time, I am. I am ready because there is nothing that will ever keep us apart again.

All those years ago I had been so consumed with preserving her humanity I had completely neglected to realize that she had granted me mine. And she continues to. It is her; my never ending, undying love for her and the need to hold her again that has broken the confines of this existence, the chains of my regrets and changed this frozen immortal seventeen year old boy into this man.

My love for her has knocked down the columns that have held my pain, my hatred, and my guilt; nothing can find purchase on such unsteady ground.

She has laid the foundations of our future in her words.

I am the man I need to be to build the walls to surround us.

.

.

.

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**_

.

.

.

I fly through the French doors and barrel right into Emmett. My momentum pushes us to the floor where we crack Esme's tiles. Before Emmett has even pulled himself up, I am in the dining room and leaning over the table towards Carlisle.

"Who is He?" I demand.

Carlisle looks up blankly and I feel a wall around his mind.

"What are you hiding Carlisle? Who is he? I swear to god I will torch him, I will pull him piece by piece and torch him."

"Edward, calm down." He replies his hands in the air defensively. "We are trying to figure it out, but we can't go by her descriptions. She purposely fabricates the details. We have no way of knowing what is true or not. It could be anyone."

"Bullshit, Carlisle!" I shout, slamming my fist to the table leaving a dent. "You know or have a very good idea who it is," I accuse.

The whole family is staring at me slack jawed. I have never spoken to him this way. I know he does not deserve to bear the brunt of my anger, my impatience, but he knows something. Something he's not sharing with me. And at this point, that is completely unacceptable. This is the only lead I have to her.

"Carlisle please, you are keeping her from me. Please, please, tell me who he is." I beg.

He sighs heavily. "Edward, I genuinely do not know. But, given her descriptions I have a few suspicions."

"Such as…"

"Well, Peter for one. But I doubt he would come without Charlotte, and Bella probably would have said he was visiting Jasper."

"Peter never would have altered his diet to visit though, and I sincerely doubt he would have the restraint to change anyone." Jasper intercedes as he comes through the doors having finally caught up to me.

"I would have seen him, if it were Peter" Alice adds, her face still buried in the table.

I hold my tirade a moment and look down at the back of her head. I see vision after vision flash through her mind, all leading us nowhere.

_She hasn't moved from that spot since we got back to the house. She is trying everything. She won't give up until she finds her. _ Esme tells me without so much as glancing away from Alice.

I turn back to Carlisle who is still holding up a wall.

"Who else could it be Carlisle?" I ask, the desperation clawing its way into my voice.

"Charles, but he doesn't often leave Europe and wouldn't without McKenna. Alistair is much like me physically, but he is much, much older than I and he has no tolerance for humans. There is Randall, he is about the right age and is a veteran."

"So Randall then, how do we find him? Alice can you see him?"

"No, I can't force visions without a connection Edward, you know that." Alice chastises me weakly , her head still in her hands.

_Edward, don't push her, she is trying as hard as she can._

"Or…." Carlisle begins again.

"Or, Carlisle? Or who?" My impatience at his reluctance is getting the better of me and I feel the rage rising again.

"Garrett." He finally admits and hangs his head. Anticipating my reaction, I'm sure.

"Garrett?" I yell back to him, stunned. "Garrett!?!?"

"Well, he is very similar to me physically, wears his hair braided, lived through the revolutionary war and I haven't seen him in almost 200 years." Carlisle tics the qualifications off on his fingers. But I am still stuck on the thought of Bella depending on Garrett. Of being changed by Garrett of all the…Garrett?!?! It cannot possibly be him!

"Garrett is an immature, irresponsible, uncontrollable ass. Jesus Carlisle, remember that story with the duchess?" I continue my rant as I pace the dining room. "And they banned him from Volterra! Banned him! Our own kind banned him!" I'm yelling again. It can't possibly be Garrett, anyone but him.

_Ummm…Edward, they banned you from Volterra….._

"Thank you, Emmett," I growl through my frustration, "very helpful."

I drop into my seat and press my palms against my eyes and sigh.

"How do we find him?" I ask the room in general.

"Well," Esme responds, "I know he spent some time in Denali, maybe they know where he headed."

"Denali!" Alice jumps from her seat. I am beside her before she takes another breath.I search her mind and hear nothing but rambling.

"Oh my god, Jas! Oh my god." And although impossible, she appears to be ready to cry.

Jasper stares at her frozen in shock so strong we can feel it radiating from him.

"Alice!" I yell to her, although I am inches away. "What is it? Is Bella in Denali?"

_I called Denali earlier Edward, Carmen had never heard of her. She would not lie to us. _

Carlisle thoughts are loud and clear but I am barely paying attention to him. I am focused only on Alice.

"How many times have I seen him Jas, how many times? Oh, God, if she had been with him. Oh god Jas." She ducks her head again.

"Been with who Alice?" I grab her by the shoulders and am shaking her harder than I probably should.

"The man, oh my god, I didn't know Edward. I swear I had no idea. I just thought, because I had seen him close. Oh god Jas. It's been almost a hundred and fifty years…"

She lets out a small sob. I am about ready to completely lose my mind when Jasper speaks up from his side of the table.

"She gets random visions of a man, a vampire we don't know."

"He's been close a few times." Alice adds. "He never had any plans that brought him to us, never decided to hunt in our areas. I never mentioned him. I thought I only saw him because he was nearby one of us or the Denalis, but he never posed a threat. There was never any visible relevance. And Edward, he was always alone, always."

She pulls up a vision for me. He's walking down one of the paths near the house in Denali.

"That's Garrett," I hiss.

"When was your last vision of him, Alice?" Carlisle asks.

"About a month ago," she replies hesitantly. "But I couldn't nail down the timing."

She is keeping her thoughts guarded and eyeing me warily. Before I have the chance to question her further, she pulls up another vision.

_It is Garrett again; surprisingly clean for him, in a shop holding something small. He is examining it carefully. It's perfect he tells the old woman in front of him, I'll take it. He hands over the object and for a second I have a clear view._

It can't be…I freeze. Pain tears me in half and brings me to my knees. "Alice?" I plead with her, "Alice, what the Hell?"

_He takes the small velvet ring box and places it in his pocket. She is a lucky young lady the woman tells him, good luck honey, I hope she accepts. He smiles back at her and replies, thank you but I have no doubt she will. I know my girl he says with a wink. _

In the moment he opens the door to the shop, I catch a glimpse of the shop across the street, a bookstore, a new age bookstore.

For the second time tonight I am out the door and a half mile away before the back of my chair hits the floor.

There is no way, not after all of this, not after the book. It is not possible, it can't be for her. She is my girl, my girl, not his! It can't be for my girl. I can't be too late.

Distracted, I don't realize they are behind me until they are close. Too close.

_Jesus Edward, hold on._

"Don't try to stop me again Emmett." I growl back to him.

_Stop you? Who is going to stop you? We're coming to help you find the bastard._

I slow my pace until Emmett, Jasper and Rosalie catch up. Together we run towards Port Angeles.

_Edward, don't be ridiculous._

"Rose, you don't..." I spit at her.

_The hell I don't. _She cuts me off.

_Alice told us what she saw. She would never Edward and you know it. She wrote you a book Edward. A book that tells you over and over she loves you. She would never marry him or anyone else. She loves you and only you. She always has. Jesus Edward, she held onto you through the change. Can you imagine what that took? _

"She what?" I turn to stare at Rosalie.

_How much of her book have you read?_

"I had stopped when I got to Cyrus," I admit.

_Well, you shouldn't have. Edward, she lost everything when she burned._

"I know that Rose, we all did."

_Yes, but she lost everything except for you. Her memory of you, when she had first realized she loved you, first saw you smile, it isn't from her diaries, it isn't retrograde. She never lost it._

"That's not possible." I stumble through my shock. "How is that possible?"

_She loves you Edward. She loves you so much that she wouldn't let it go. Not then and not in the last hundred and fifty years. So whatever you're thinking just stop. She loves you, only you._

"If you really believe that," I direct to her, "if none of you believe Alice's vision has a thing to do with Bella then why are you here?" I shout to them all.

_I'm here to get your out of your own head and prevent you from doing something stupid. Again._

"Great, thanks Rose." Despite my sarcasm, I do appreciate her effort. Rosalie is not one to spare feelings. She would never speak anything but her own honesty.

_Edward, Alice has never seen Bella. We still don't know for sure that she ever was with Garrett. Cyrus could still be someone else. I'm here because this is the best lead we have and I'll be damned if I let you do this alone._

"Thanks, Jas." I reply genuinely.

I turn to look at Emmett, who has been surprisingly silent.

_I'm here in case they are wrong about anything and you need someone to hold him down while you pull him apart._


	18. Storm: Control

_**Things I own: a serious addiction to itunes, and a big piece of cake (vanilla with chocolate frosting) and no Twilight**_

_**Things Stephenie Meyer owns: Twilight**_

_**No Copyright Infringement Intended**_

_I am so, so sorry this chapter took me forever. I wish I could spit the whole thing out at once and hand it over, but since I can't, I promise I will try my hardest to get you the next one ASAP. At least it is pretty long at almost 6,000 words!_

_On that note (and I hate giving you teasers because I am just so damn fickle when I'm writing) this chapter and the next two I have planned will answer some big questions for you. They are all very important to the story and that is why I am obsessing over them and taking so long._

_So, I have three things to ask of you concerning the next few chapters:_

_Trust, have faith._

_Please don't throw things, I bruise easily._

_If you have any questions please ask on the forum so I only have to answer the same question once (so I have more time to write new chapters : ) __http://www__ (dot) twilighted (dot) net/forum/viewtopic (dot) php?f=33&t=2034_

_Immense Thanks to:_

_Everyone that reads and reviews, you rock my world and I appreciate it so much!_

_**De and Dar**__ who love me and FE enough to let me ramble on about it constantly and never act bored or annoyed with me (although I find it hard to believe they are not __**: )**_

_The trinity of fabulous: __**Smudge**__ (the best damn beta a girl could ask for), __**ShinyVolvo**__ (graphic design genius) and __**DazzleMe**__ (content advisor extraordinaire) who tolerate my endless insecurities and keep this story on track._

_Thank You!_

_Also……__**Happy Birthday to Me!!! **__Today is my eighteenth birthday!_

…_Cough…Liar….Cough…. ( --- comes from hubby's side of the couch)_

_Okay, okay give or take….. a…. decade……or so….. __**; )**_

_But today really is my birthday, so show me some birthday love and review please!_

_This chapter goes out to __**Smudge. **__Without her contributions you probably would not have understood half of what I was attempting to say. Thanks for everything __**Smudge!**_

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From the moment I had I opened my eyes and broke the first dawn of my new life, I had been ruled entirely by only three things.

The first of which was Adam and my unending, infallible love for him. Although the sole memory that had remained in my mind was the single snapshot of a smiling boy, I had known from that alone that I had loved him; that simple smile brightened my already luminous world. My still heart ached for him. My hands twitched at the thought of brushing back the hair I somehow knew would dip into his eyes. I felt an unfamiliar possessiveness by just the thought of him. I had not known his name. I had not known our history. I knew not one kiss, one caress, one other moment of him, of us, but this. Yet, he remained the solitary burning truth surrounded by the multitude of uncertainties. I had known, deep in the soul I had yet to realize I had lost, known beyond a shadow of the doubt that had claimed me, that he was mine.

In those earliest of days, through the hurricane of confusion that had sent me hurling head first into an incomprehensible new reality, it had been this lone actuality, this boy I knew I loved, this boy I knew to be mine, that had grounded me.

The second of things that had consumed me was my all encompassing instinct.

While instinct, abstractly speaking may seem a rather simplistic concept; in truth, in my new incarnation instinct had become not only fundamental to my survival, but it had devoured me.

There are some things, my dearest reader; I feel I must take pause to better explain. The instinct that had devoured me entirely had been more than preferences, more than an ingrained directory of experiences. This instinct had been much more than a vague guideline to this strange and new existence. This instinct had created within the boundaries of my mind an alternate persona, in and of itself. A persona I was not only unaware of, but one I could not, in any possible extent, control.

In some small measure, I can easily concede the necessity of this instinct. With the awakening to this life almost all aspects of the world I had known to be solid and infallible were violently strewn. I suppose once again this is a point better illustrated.

You see my dearest, the senses that you experience, the senses that guide you— your sight, your hearing, every of your observations of the world in its entirety— pale in sharp comparison to mine. It is hard for me to dissect these details, to describe to you differences as my memories of my first incarnation are tainted with the fog of time, restricted by the chains of my once human capabilities. I suppose the best I can offer to detail these differences is to dispense to you some of my primary memories of this life.

As the first light graced the gentle ripples of a river, caressed the needles of an ageless spruce and illuminated the aging crumbled walls of my tomb; my eyes had fluttered open and I had genuinely seen the world for the first time.

I assure you the beauty, the detail, the color, the complexity in even the most remedial of objects is purely incomprehensible to you.

This world is bathed in colors I cannot name. This world is consumed with diminutive yet distinct details I had never in my wildest of dreams imagined existed. This world echoes with the sounds of all life, specific yet minute. I will try desperately to not wax philosophically amongst the debates of my species. I have spent too many years delved in conversations, disputes of evolution versus abomination. But I can hardly accept anything short of a divine creation for my kind, despite our many faults. For this is truly the way any god would have intended all creatures to experience the glory that is this world.

And that is to blame for my instant, overwhelming and endless fascination with the wooden ceiling beam. Save the boy who was mine, it was simply the most breathtakingly beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had been consumed in each minuscule grain of her jagged surface; reading through every splinter her history, her years of wear, as she had been left to fend for herself among the harsh elements. Had I not chosen in that next moment to draw my first breath, I very well may have spent my eternity consumed in her majesty.

But in the moment that first breath had graced my mouth, the majority of my attention was immediately drawn into the magnificence of the taste of the world that surrounded me. The metallic tang of the fresh earth swirled through my heightened taste buds, mixing with the piquant flavor of cedar and the sweet and gentle perfume of freesia. The next breath brought me rich maple, curling around my tongue like the thick syrups of my youth, and mixing with a peppered smoke. I had closed my eyes and reveled in the grandeur of flavors I had never thought possible.

Yet again, I may have remained contented tasting the world surrounding me, unmoving and unseeing until the earth had collapsed around me and I would still have been ensconced in nothing but taste; but a sharp intake of breath broke the sanctuary of my senses and for the first time I had experienced fear.

My still adjusting consciousness was slow to catch up to my form as I had instinctually flashed to a wall I had not even realized I had been aware of. Crouched in a position of defense I had searched for the source of my distress only to find the second most beautiful man I have ever borne witness to.

As my consciousness lay consumed in his beauty, my instinct fulfilled its predisposition for defense. His gently sloping cheekbones framed his gorgeous face; the strong lines of his chin held me captivated. The expanse color glowing from his golden hair by the light behind him was so glorious I had wanted to weep. But still, my body had held its ground. His eyes bore me no malevolence, their endless depths drawing me to him as a siren. Then another breath bathed me in the intoxicating scents and flavors of maple and smoke. Yet my instinct and, therefore, my body had remained on edge poised to attack. But my consciousness— that part of me where my thoughts, perceptions, emotions, and self-awareness still resided— wanted nothing more than to reach for him. I was driven to satiate my incomprehensible need for the feel of his silken skin beneath my fingers. As my consciousness had warred with my instinct, the former demanding an action against him and the latter swollen heavy with the desire to devour him with more of my senses, the angel had kept his gaze locked into mine and he had smiled.

I had been completely aware by this point that I had not known my own name. I did not know myself or what had become of me. For, I had realized since that first moment of awakening that something was most defiantly remiss. And, I knew not the angel before me.

Yet in those first moments I had done the only thing I had been driven to do, the only thing that had mattered; I had asked of the boy, my boy.

As with so many things extraordinary, these enhanced perceptions proved just as much a curse as a blessing. While my new mind and instinct had been specifically designed to accept and process these enhancements in the world that had surrounded me, my defaulted human consciousness raged against my new abilities. To put it simply my dear reader, it had been too much to bear.

With this enormous magnitude of new sensations, my consciousness—then completely overwhelmed— would retreat to the far corners of my mind. Cast aside completely, striped of all control, where I would only bear witness to instinct that would then rule me entirely. My instinct had been wild, rabid, unreasonable, and thoroughly uncontrollable. The most insignificant of things would be enough to tip the scale of my precarious control. Then without warning, fueled by this instinct alone, I would react with a fury I had not believed possible.

And although I was not yet to know of his defection, his traitorous deceit; the very first of these tipping points had been the angel's remorseful denial of knowledge of my boy.

As my mind had continued to catalogue the immeasurable details without my consent, my consciousness had then become committed to nothing but concern for my boy. Had something happened to him? Was his absence the cause or a result of my current state? Had he burned as I had? Was he suffering as well? Was he searching for me with desperation to equal my own? How could I go about locating someone I knew nothing of besides a smile and love? I needed him, only him. I needed to find the boy that was mine.

My mind then flooded with thoughts and emotions beyond my ability to process: my need for him, the growing panic from his continued absence, the vast multitude of remaining questions about him, each unwelcome detail that accompanied those questions, and the Angel's hesitant reluctance. All of this fell down upon my already weary consciousness and broke the last hold I had on that part of myself. For the very first time, I had felt the dangerous fracture. I had only been able to watch as I became nothing but my instinct, consumed by it entirely.

I could only observe as I became nothing more than a shadow within myself, helpless through the rage of this instinct.

And rage I certainly did.

As my consciousness cowered in the corners of my mind, I could only bear witness as the walls crumbled beneath the hands that were once mine. The ceiling beam that I had admired so fervently only moments before had become sawdust between those fingers. Trees had been uprooted, boulders crushed and thrown; even the Angel was not immune to this uncontrollable wrath. In the company of boulders, he too had been rendered airborne across the river as I had heard myself roar out with the fury of the animal I had become.

Since time had ceased to hold meaning through the first of these tantrums, I cannot begin to assume how long I had been without control. I know only that it had become dark yet again when I had finally fallen to my knees on that riverbank. I had not tired, for those restraints had been too long gone for me then. Yet my rage had been spent. The violence and the confusion had ebbed as my instinct retreated back to the periphery, and my consciousness had returned to its rightful place at the forefront of my mind.

When I had ceased being a danger to both the animate and inanimate objects surrounding me, the angel had again approached. Through his mumblings of condemning himself, eternal sentences and mood swings, he had graciously reminded me his name was Cyrus.

It was then he had explained to me what I had become. He had detailed the rules I must follow and what was expected of me.

After another uncontrollable outburst from my instinctual persona, he had then introduced me to my duty, my desire, and my place in the world. For if you remember correctly, my kind is designed with a singular purpose: to end the lives of men.

My dearest reader, I have bared to you my endless war of love and pain and I have touched briefly on my guilt. But for you to truly understand, I must admit to you the darkest of my secrets, the most shameful of my memories.

With a heavy heart, I must now shatter the trust and any compassion I may have gained from you in our time together. It is time my dear, to reveal to you—no matter how desperately I wish to disguise myself—exactly what that all consuming instinct had forced me to become.

I have already disclosed to you several of my incarnations, but several more remain. The very worst of which I am sharing with you now.

I have been that frail and helpless little girl.

I have been that heartbroken unrequited lover.

And, due to my instinct, I have been a murderer, a monster.

The all consuming war of pain and love had been borne by my love and subsequent loss of Adam, yet still it rages brightly fueled by the guilt of the blood that shall always stain these hands.

Although I remain unwavering in my belief I deserve none of your pity or your compassion, I dare not aspire to. It would again be unjust to only share portions of my story. By remaining beside me still, you have more than earned these memories in their entirety, regardless the cost to me. And that is precisely what I shall grant you.

I can only hope though these words, this documented confession of my crimes, I will I purge some small measure of my conscience for the atrocious things I have done. I remain hopeful that with these words I write to you, some small semblance of the guilt I carry with me will ease out through my fingers, my pen, and become nothing more than lines on this page.

While forgiveness shall always evade me, as I remain in steadfast in the belief I deserve no forgiveness for the severity of the horrors these hands have created, I only hope you will remain in these pages.

My story has not yet been told.

And if you cannot, rest assured, I do not contest your decision.

Forgive me, my dearest reader, as I falter and hesitate as I unload these burdens. I do so quite carefully. For I live in the fear that once my most damming of all secrets breach their iron clad cells spilling forth in a black waterfall staining my soul that I shall be claimed, and justly so, by the deepest pits of Hell.

In an even more shameful display of my selfishness, I remain most frightened by the thought of the revulsion and shame I am sure to bring to my family, to Adam and to Abraham especially with these confessions. I am dying once more as I write these words, knowing exactly what it will bring to my family as they read them.

While I bear the regret for these deeds, embrace the guilt I have so thoroughly earned for each of my transgressions and accept every responsibility that is rightfully mine for the nightmare I became, I will unfairly beg one more favor of you.

I beg you to hear me, hear me now, and accept it as truth. For I have given you my word, I have promised you my candor, and will not fail you here and now.

You must believe that never, never, have I relished the death I have wielded so recklessly. Never, not for one single moment in all of this existence, have I triumphed in the souls I have stolen.

As for this simple truth proving as evidence towards my redemption or my damnation; well, my days serving as judge, jury and executioner are far behind me now, so I shall leave that distinction to you.

I will not, will never ask you to forgive me this. I can only breathe deeply and bear these unpleasant truths to your scrutiny and hope that in some small measure you will understand.

Follow me now, to the darkest recesses of my storm and bear witness to my shame.

As I had learned that first day of our many travels, there was an even darker side to my instinct.

As primal as breathing, as blinking, it was insatiable, a desire stronger than I had ever felt. It was an iron clad compulsion, to reach out and take what was mine, to fulfill not only my desire, but my purpose. It was all consuming, uncontrollable. It was the driving force of my existence.

There had been a scent, the sweetest scent imaginable. I had known instinctually that the pain, the pull, my confusion could be satiated if I could just posses the elusive companion to that scent. If I could just feel the bass of a pulse that had not been mine course through my body and consume it all.

So under Cyrus' careful guidance I had been released unto the world to satiate my instinct and take my place as an Angel of Death.

As that scent would embrace me, beckoning with the whispered promises of relief from the pain that had gripped me, my consciousness would again be overcome by the instinct and I had hunted my prey unwittingly.

I hope I am doing this justice my dearest, for I can imagine you questioning my choice, my will. Asking why I had not raged against my instinct.

And the answer, as I have tried desperately to illustrate for you previously, is that when it would come down to my instinct, it simply was not a choice. There was never a choice to be had. It was an inevitable and unavoidable conclusion. A conclusion as so many before, that I was powerless to prevent.

These earliest of days remained ruled mercilessly by my instinct, this compulsion. It had been too strong, too determined, too uncontrollable for my consciousness or Cyrus—even if he had so desired—to halt. I had wholly become this instinctive persona, this demon, and I was nothing else.

It was only later, after the damage had been done, the lives stolen, the primal urges tamed and fulfilled that my instinct would retreat and my consciousness would once again be loud enough to be heard.

And hear it I did.

It was now that the third and final of my compulsions would flare as all consuming as my love of Adam and the instinct had been; the guilt would draw me to my knees. Mere moments it had taken me to drain the life from my victims, yet centuries cannot drain one drop of the guilt that continues to devour me over their loss; of all I had stolen from them.

I would sit beside the then empty and meaningless vessels of the souls I had taken and I would cry my tearless sobs, for them and for myself. For whatever I had been before I burned to have earned this sentence; to have become this demon. While I may not have deserved to hurt after the horrors that I had brought down upon the innocent, I did. I continue to.

And no matter the assurances of my destiny from Cyrus and his reminders of the all encompassing circle of life, it was and continues to be a guilt that defines me.

And so the time passed, our lives continued. Our travels continued. And I continued to be encompassed by my love of my boy I could not name and ruled in turn by my guilt—my consciousness— and my instinct; the demon that consumed at whim.

As this time passed, I had become stronger. My will became stronger, my control, my conscience, my understanding. My strengths grew by the day.

One day had changed everything.

It had taken months—months of losing myself and losing my consciousness the moment I became aware of their presence, of the scent—until I had gained enough control to realize the entirety of what I had been doing while it was happening. On that miraculous day, as the scent blew past me, awakening the demon and calling forth my instinct, I fought back.

I had fought back with every one of the new strengths I had possessed.

With that last temptation, my consciousness had maintained some small shred of control. I had for the very first time, been able to overpower the instinct, the demon that had held control over me for far too long and stop it cold in its tracks as it had attempted to covet another life to steal.

I had turned from that trace of scent; I had held my breath, closed my eyes and fought with a passion and strength I had not possessed since I had saved my boy from the fire. I had fought that demon back into the periphery and gained control of myself entirely until I could walk from the path of my instincts and finally choose.

That day I had known, for the very first time in this existence, I was finally strong enough to choose.

I had rejoiced.

But I had become too proud, too arrogant in this newfound strength of will.

In this pride, I had decided that I would no longer permit my instinct, the demon to rule me in any measure. I was the victor, I was stronger, and I would never concede my newfound ability to choose.

I would continue to deviate from the paths the demon had taken. I could overpower the desire and the pain and be a murderer no more.

And my will had been strong as I informed Cyrus of my intentions. I announced, in my arrogance, that I had my fill of death and would be the bearer of such no longer.

Yet he had remained insistent, for we had this conversation many times previously, that there was no alternative. He had claimed the choice was not and would never be mine to make. He had insisted we had been cast in this incarnation and must fulfill the purposes entrusted to us.

So I had relented to his knowledge, his experience of this life that had been so new to me. I had conceded to his claim of no alternative and informed him since there was no alternative then my choice would be nothing at all. I would no longer be the end of men. I would steal not one more life and if that resulted in my own death I would embrace it willingly. I would wither away to nothingness before one more soul was lost to my hands.

On that first day, he had laughed, told me he had admired my spirit, and wished me luck.

On the third day, he had goaded; teased me with diagnoses of anorexia and brought exaggerated attention to every scent the wind had carried to us. The fight of resistance grew more difficult, but I did not relent.

On the seventh day, when my step had faltered as we ran, he lost his humor and he had lectured. He had warned me of the grave consequences for disrupting the natural order. He had attempted to scare me into submission to my instinct. But still, my will had remained stronger than his warnings, my dedication stronger than the temptation.

On the eleventh day, when I could run no more he had lost all of his lightheartedness, his patience, and he had argued. He had argued with a violence and passion I had never before seen from him. Hours upon hours he had fought, yelled of my stubborn ignorance, my attempted and sure to be unsuccessful suicide, my reluctance to accept the realities that surrounded me. He fought as I countered each of his claims, fought as my will only grew stronger, as I grew more resolved to not ever allow my instinct to consume me again. And as I fought him—matched every ounce of his passion with my own—I fought just as determinately to remain ignorant to the nagging truth that my strength, my control was slipping slowly through my fingers.

On the eighteenth day, he had carried me through the frozen, barren lands for my step could find no purchase and he had begged. He had begged me to end this madness, my petulance. He had begged for understanding that I would not find peace where I was searching. Begged that I would see this path I was so desperate to follow was futile. He had begged me to trust him and his assurances that the choice I had made would bring me nothing but a pain I could not imagine. But I had believed I knew of pain. My instinct was barely restrained and the pain it brought forth was staggering, second only to the burning pain of my conversion. I had continued to fight for all I was worth, fight for the lives of the innocent, and fight to not cry out and give him or the demon the satisfaction of seeing one shred of my will shattered by pain.

I had clung to him not out of concern he would loosen his grip, I clung to him as I clung to the last of my resolve. I clung to his strong shoulders to hold myself back as the instinct, the demon clawed at the frayed edges of my weary control.

In my conviction, in my pride, in my arrogance, I did not relent.

Sometime later, as time had ceased to have meaning as I held tightly to him and the last of my resolve, I had experienced hallucinations. I saw visions of those I had killed in their final moments as their eyes had begged a dark haired young girl who could not rise up against her own instinct to save them. And it was those visions during my increasing periods of insanity that would aid in small measure to strengthen me.

And still, my body and mind crumbled beneath the restrictions of my resolve, the last of my conviction.

Finally, we had stumbled on an old abandoned cabin. It had been weeks into my self-imposed attempted death sentence and in that time Cyrus had not once left my side. While he had been much older than I and not as dependant on the sustenance we craved, he had desperate need to satiate his own instincts. Yet, he remained fearful of leaving me by myself. Through the excruciating war of my will and the pain, of my instinct and my consciousness, the demon and the conscience, I had scoffed at him. Through the boisterous voice of my pride I had teased him and his concerns. I could barely walk under my own power I had reminded him. I had assured him, as I had steadfastly believed; I was limited to remain where ever he was to leave me.

Reluctantly he conceded, leaving me as comfortable as possible in that desolate cabin. With a kiss to my forehead and promises of a quick return he ventured forth into the brewing winter storm and left me to fight my battles in peace.

Had I only known what was to come. Had I only asked him to stay beside me. Had I only joined him. As I have assured you before my dear reader, it is these could-have-beens that haunt my sleepless nights.

The moon had hung high above the ageless spruces and the storm gained fury as I lay in the corner of the old cabin suffering in my silence.

From the deep corner of the forest, from the sharp incline of the mountain, straight from the depths of hell, a sharp wind had torn through the night, the cabin, and the last of my control as the weak and distant scent had reached me.

Any illusion of dominance I had believed I had gained in the preceding weeks was shattered the moment the vague traces had graced my nostrils. There was no fight for control. I had barely the strength to stand on my own much less fight back the instinct that yet again raged through me shattering the chains of my will like glass and consuming me completely.

To this day, I am unsure how my instinct had managed to track the scent in the condition I had been in. Unfortunately, my weak and brittle body had held strong under the command. I had trekked through the trees slowly, painfully, yet with purpose. I was beckoned by the sweetest of scents.

I had traced it until I had reached the farmhouse; darkened and quiet against the cold winter storm it stood in front of me, promising salvation to the demon I had tried so desperately to deny and damnation to the girl that had tried so valiantly to rise above.

I stood screaming, kicking, and fighting in my mind refusing to concede to the demon even as my body moved forward without my consent. Through the unlocked front door (not that a lock could have stopped me), through the sitting room where the embers of a dying fire fought against the cool night air threatening to extinguish them, up the staircase with its squeaky steps and worn carpeting, I crept. Down the hall lined with their memories, I had been driven to find the scent the demon craved; each heartbeat promising an end to the pain I had brought down upon myself. Each step closer to that release from the prisons of my self-restraint even as my consciousness continued to fight with what little strength remained and cried with violent sobs for the horrors I knew I could not now prevent. Although I did not halt in fighting for control, I knew I could only bear witness to this nightmare that I could not escape; a nightmare of my own instinct's creation.

My still heart fractured but my consciousness could only watch as I stole them from their peaceful slumber and took the lives of that family. Deep fissures formed inside me as I had slain them; drained their lives ferociously, mercilessly, and immune to the screaming. One by one they fell by my doing even while in my mind I lay sobbing, begging for any end, of this, of me; shattered into pieces I would never recover

As their strength had ebbed and faded, mine had only grown. With each life stolen, the demon became stronger but so had my consciousness until finally I had grown strong enough to stop myself. The quivering body of the woman remained in my arms sobbing silently in shock at the horror that had befallen her family. Finally in complete control, I had then looked in her eyes and had seen with no shred of uncertainty what I had done to her, to them.

In minutes, I had torn apart her world and shattered the reasons for her existence. In that moment when I had searched her eyes and had seen the soul of the mother, I had understood in absolute clarity what I had left her. Trembling and sobbing my own tearless cries I pulled her to my breast and murmured futile apologies as I had snapped her neck and granted her the only peace that remained for her in the shadows of what I had done.

Hers was the only life I had taken consciously, willingly. Her family had fallen to my instinct while she had fallen to my mercy.

Minutes, hours, days, years later, I heard Cyrus as he crashed through that front door and flew up those squeaky steps until he had come upon me sitting on that floor, surrounded by the carnage of my acts. Their bodies gathered in my arms as I rocked, sobbed endlessly and muttered my unintelligible apologies to the dead.

He stood in that doorway with all traces of his humor, his lightheartedness, his anger gone. He looked down at me in the hell of my own creation, not with well earned righteousness, but with pity and with heartbreak reflecting my own.

In his compassion, he left me to my mourning and gathered the supplies to rectify, as much as could ever be rectified, these transgressions.

Eventually he had coaxed me from that room and cleaned me as best he could as I recoiled from his touch and my sobbing did not relent. He returned to them, placed their broken hollow bodies back into their beds, and lit the fires that would keep my secrets. He had carried my hysterical self from their home, their blazing tomb. He had held me in his arms as I sobbed with guilt, shame, regret, and hatred that burned with a fury to equal the inferno he had evoked.

Offering me the only solace he could, he had recited the funeral prayers and hymns from his human memories as I watched my crimes, my foolish pride, my resolve and my will all burn to ash.

He pulled me in his arms as if I were child as I continued my endless sobs and he whispered words of comfort I did not deserve and unearned and endless apologies for his poor judgment in leaving my side. He whispered promises for the future and begged me to cease my sobbing as he carried me from the very worst of my nightmares.

Over his shoulder, I could see the bright and raging beacon of my guilt. The scarlet footprints left in our wake staining the pure white landscape with the blood that would forever remain on my hands and through the sobbing I believed would never cease, I had sworn to us both I would doubt him no more.


	19. Anticipation

_Believe it or not I really don't have much to say this time. (Shocking, I know!)_

_Please keep in mind my little requests from last chapter: faith, no violence, and check out the FAQ on page 9 of the forum!_

_As always, enormous thanks to:_

_**You, my readers and reviewers**__ who rock my freaking world with your love for this story. I can't thank you enough!_

_My Twilighted beta __**JenWordSong**__. Jen, I can't tell you how much I appreciate the time and attention you dedicate to this story._

_And of course, my better half: __**Smudge**__._

_**S**__, this story wouldn't be half of what it is without your guidance and hard work. Thanks for taking time from your real life and things that actually matter to come and play with me. (and Edward, and Bella and Garrett of course) Thank you endlessly for everything you do for me._

_Also, for anyone into author playlists, I have one for FE on my bio!_

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I head up the rickety stairs to the attic in search of my Garrett box. The attic is fairly small, as is the whole house, and I am surprised by the vast amount of things I have managed to store here. I have been in this house almost ten years, practically an eternity considering my nomadic origins and the usual need to relocate often. I have been rather lucky in this regard. The house is secluded enough for neighbors to not be a problem and I had spent the first few years only venturing out at night to hunt.

Despite some of Garrett's more irresponsible tendencies, he certainly understands commerce well enough to keep me rather comfortable. He had invested the little money I had brought with me into this life, as well as setting up a generous trust; so money has never been a concern. In fact, it was only boredom that drew to me to become employed a few years back. I had decided to put one of my many degrees to good use and became a freelance writer. It serves the purpose of keeping me busy while also staying well within my self-imposed parameters of secrecy. I may only technically be eighteen, but the proper wardrobe, make-up, and attitude had always proved sufficient in passing me off as a recent college graduate in the very few instances I would have to meet with someone. Alice would certainly be proud of me now.

I work remotely, sending articles or stories electronically, as all of my employers are located far from Chicago. It is sporadic work, but being a decent writer, rigidly punctual and most importantly cheap— I have no problem finding jobs. I had tired of the school bit rather quickly. Well, that is not exactly true, more it had reminded me too much of them, of where I should be. It had quickly become too painful to endure, which led me to several degrees via correspondence courses. I suppose, as with so many things, it is probably for the best.

I have never had a problem with quiet, with being alone. Granted, it was difficult those first few years without Garrett. But, I believe I have adjusted fairly well, all things considered. Sure, I am lonely. I do miss interaction, even with humans. But, now I have Joel, randomly Garrett, and sporadically a few of our acquaintances that may wander through. I force it to be enough.

Save Garrett, I remember all too clearly the pain in letting anyone get too close. I try not to dwell on the fact my closest companion is a sixty year old with a heartbeat. I make note to try to dig up his medical records; it would be nice to have some warning at least. I'm sure Garrett would have no issue coming home to me if something were to happen to him before I have to move on.

I have entertained the thought of getting myself a cat; I would be the atypical old cat lady I laugh to myself. The irony prevented me from following through on that thought. Well, the irony and the fact that I have yet to encounter any animal that does not instinctively react poorly towards me. As I have learned, I am better off avoiding the paths of living things in general.

I effortlessly move a few of the larger boxes in an attempt to reach the far corner of the attic where I have stored Garrett's things. I pause to admire a few of the paintings I have stored here. It is probably time to rotate the pieces I have on display throughout the house. Not that anyone is here to enjoy them but me. Still, I wouldn't mind a change. I can have them switched by the time Garrett arrives. They are the result of yet another of his invaluable lessons: Acquire works from promising young artists, first editions of books, and war and sports memorabilia— any piece private collectors may find impressive however many years from now; deal only with Garrett's approved brokers; and have appropriate—and forged of course—documentation of my inherited pieces. Take these steps and money is never an issue for a collector. Like so many of his teachings, it has served me well. Considering I have not had to make a hasty move since my earliest days, I have amassed quite the collection. I move a few more boxes and finally see my goal in the far corner. It has been quite some time since he has last called. I'll have to chastise him for being gone so long this time.

I reach for the box labeled Garrett and catch sight of the very first copy of my own book resting haphazardly on another box. I freeze at the sight of it; I had meant to hide it better. My weekly reminder of the package brings me more than enough pain; I try desperately to put it out of my mind between Wednesdays. I cautiously reach out and pluck the book off the box and blow the dust from the cover before holding it to my breast, bowing my head, and trying to bite back that familiar pain. I laugh bitterly to myself through my clenched teeth; I hardly need the rest of my collection now, not with the book and its blood money.

But, I have yet to spend one dime of the money the book has garnered me. I can't bear the thought of profiting from anything written in that book. I find myself almost hating it—the book—the way I hate so many things that had been captured in those pages.

I had never expected, never imagined the success of the book. Who would have ever believed my heartbreaking past, my morbid confessional would be so intriguing to the masses? I had written it and had it published for a few sets of eyes. If theirs were the only eyes to ever grace the cover it would have been more than enough.

I almost have to laugh at the irony; shelves of awards I don't want, too many zeros in a bank account I don't use, requests for interviews I will never grant, thousands of pieces of fan mail, praise, a multitude of marriage proposals from men named Adam that I will never acknowledge. Yet, my intention, my purpose, my prayer unfulfilled. Yes, irony does seem to be quite a reoccurring theme for me.

In truth, I had written it not only out of my love but out of obligation and cowardice.

When I had first discovered the truths Garrett had tried so desperately to shield me from I did not know where to turn. Everything I thought I had known every truth I believed had been shattered. I could do nothing but lay consumed in confusion. How could I even begin to make sense of anything when every column that held me up was built on a fractured foundation? How could I have been so incredibly wrong on every count that mattered? So many demons buried beneath my heart, so many more wounds beneath the surface had never healed. So many things explained and so many more left unsaid. Yet, despite it all, I loved each of them still.

One would think—as I did for quite some time—that things were better left the way they were. My need to apologize, forgive Jasper, and tell them how much they and…_Edward_...had meant to me, those burdens were mine to bear. If I were to open wounds that had been healed for them for over a century how would it be fair to them? How would I truly love any of them if I were to do that? I had convinced myself it was selfish and self serving. They had moved past it and me; he had moved on. I would genuinely be in the wrong in bringing things down upon them now, so very many years later, to simply appease myself and the things I had so recently discovered.

So for years, I had done nothing but let the war of my pain and my love for them, for him, rage inside of me uninterrupted. For Garrett's sake, I had strived to never show just how broken I had become. I simply continued on to the best of my ability; checked up on them as best I could, admired them, loved them from afar, and let the past remain the past. At least, I let our past remain the past for them, for him; I left them free to let go of the things I could never hope to.

Yet—through the years—the tension, the storm, and the war had only built. Time had only served to strengthen the bindings that held my shattered heart. And, I had warred with myself; warred between knowing they did not want me then, they would not want me now, but knowing they believed I had killed myself. They believed me dead. And through the sleepless nights I did not spend crushed by the weight of loss, I would fantasize of them, of him. That he would see me—see that I had not died—and run into my arms with a thousand lost kisses and forgiveness and promises of forever. I would dream, as much as I am capable of dreaming, that they had missed me all these years, that he had mourned me. I would dream that he would love me as I love him still; that they all would love me still.

But, I had become even more haunted by the illusions I had allowed myself to create.

I did genuinely believe that he would see himself responsible for my suicide. It was this belief that became my tipping point. Knowing the kind of man he had always been, he never would forgive himself for that no matter his feelings for me when he had left. With these thoughts, the war had raged more violently than ever before. What do I choose? Do I leave him to shoulder the pain of my death yet leave him to his memories of me as I was then and to the thoughts of my glorious heaven? Or, do I shatter his illusions, admit to my incarnation, my years of silence, and let him think of me as a monster, a demon, a stupid, selfish girl that hid in the shadows for so long? With each day, with each question the pain would only increase. My resolve to leave them in peace no longer held weight if there was no peace for him. I could not let my light, my love, my boy continue to exist with that burden. It was not right or noble to let him bear responsibly for the death I had only partially endured.

That is where I had found my strength. For there are so many things I can never forgive. So many things that I could never, despite how desperately I would wish otherwise, never take back. So many transgressions I could never undo. But this, this was something I could change, something I could fix. This is an apology I can offer, forgiveness I can bestow, and misconceptions I can rectify. There is so much pain I must live with but this did not have to be a chain that bound me. I could free myself from these ghosts.

This epiphany had only served to haunt me while the time passed as I tried to gather the courage to take some form of action. How do I forgive, how do I ask for their forgiveness? If I allow myself this one chance, these few moments to tell him, what do I say?

I knew I could not see him, see them. That would have been impossible; not only logistically but in terms of my precarious sanity. I could not bear to see his face again and hear those words. Once in an eternity is ample.

But more than that, how could I look in his eyes and tell the keeper of my heart, my reason for going on that I had willingly done every single thing he had begged me not to do? That I had voluntarily given up everything he had sacrificed for? At least that is my hope, the illusion I cling to so passionately. If that is not the case, if his words were true all those years ago, how could I face him as he destroys me again? Or worse, how do I face him if he had lied? If my hopes are true and he had only left to save me, how do I face him as he learns not only had it all been in vain but as he becomes disgusted by the existence I have lived?

How do you look into the eyes of the man you loved before you had known him, the man you had lived for these hundred and fifty years, and hold his eyes as you confess to losing your soul—not only in his definition but also in yours? How to you face the man you have loved as the other half of yourself and shatter the regard he once held you in by admitting the person you had become?

He had always called himself a monster, a demon, evil. He had hated himself for it. He had been consumed in his own self loathing for something he did not choose. How could I see the smile that still owns my heart and see it turn to disgust and revulsion when he had learned what had become of me? What would he say when he realized his once sweet and innocent girl had far surpassed his crimes, that his demon paled in the shadows of mine?

I had not been enough for him then, what would he think of me now?

No, no I could never see him, have him so close and have him turn from me again. It may be nothing short of what I would deserve, what I would expect but I know I would not survive it.

I could not call them, speak to him. Again, it would be too much for me to bear. I cannot bring myself to say certain things aloud and I don't believe I could stand to hear his responses. It would be too personal, too close to hear the honey voice I can barely remember in my ear. If I am destined to live the remainder of this existence without him, I have more than enough remembrances to last. I do not need a fresh wound on my heart. My ghosts are plenty. I have no desire for more.

So, I had started to draft them a letter. Well, two letters actually, one to the family and one to him. Months I had spent poised over letter after letter only to have them crumpled on the floor mere sentences in. How could I tell them how I had loved them without sounding desperate? How do I tell him I have always loved him, mourned him this century and a half without sounding like that pathetic little girl he had seen me as before? How do I tell him what his leaving had done to me without sounding insane or bitter or overcoming him with the guilt I would be trying to assuage? How could I tell him every single thing I wanted to say while assuring him I ask nothing of him? Without it sounding as if I am begging for a place among them?

Again, I believe I know them well enough to be convinced that if—for even one single moment they had believed that is what I had asked—I would be offered a place amongst them regardless their true feelings. He and Carlisle would know what I have done and be disgusted, horrified. Although I do believe they would offer me a place in spite of this, I could not bear an eternity of witnessing the disappointment in their eyes or, even worse, revulsion. As I have promised myself so very many times, I will never be their burden again.

I tried, I had tried for months and in the end I simply could not do it.

So I remained bound by this war, trapped in the purgatory Garrett had so desperately tried to spare me. Again, I had not known where to turn.

In the end it was a simple trip into town that had placed me on this path. I had needed a few things. My shoes were becoming worn and I needed a new winter coat, as winter had been fast approaching and mine had become sorely dated. I had usually just shopped online. But, I had not been around more than one human at a time for quite a while and had figured I could use a little boost in my resistance. So, I had picked an overcast weekday morning in hopes the clouds would hold and the crowds would be thin and set about to test my tolerance and get some supplies. I had passed the windows of a large bookstore debating if the cloud cover would hold long enough to pick up some new reading material and caught sight of Halloween display featuring Bram Stoker and Anne Rice. An idea had been born.

It was perfect in so many measures. It could be anonymous; I could write it in such a way that only those who had lived through it would see it as my history. I could tell my whole story, from the very beginning to present and not face the reactions I so feared. I could lay out my motivations, my history, my crimes and my love in a way that held no obligation for a response. The very best part would be that they would know. They would know everything and have the chance to contact me only if they truly desired. There was a way to give them everything: my apologies, my love and my forgiveness and assure them I ask for nothing in return.

If—and only if—they genuinely wanted to contact me they could. I would leave no trail but an anonymous address. So they could write their own letter, spill forth their honesty. I could spare them as I had spared myself. They would not have to see my face, hear my voice as they destroyed me.

It was perfect and more quickly than I had anticipated it was finished. I could have published it independently, but that would have been a poor choice on a few counts. First, it would draw attention. I much prefer the anonymity that comes from a large publishing house. Second, I would need the distribution opportunities a large publisher would offer. Along those same lines, it would be much easier to trace where the books had ended up if they were tracked for sales in a large corporation. Add all of that to the fact I had very little idea how to go about publishing a book anyway and I began to shop for a publisher.

I was instantly surprised how well it had been received by the people I had sent it to. Finally, I chosen based on successes with new authors and flexibility in having to meet with me, not the money they had offered. It has never been about money, I would have given it for free to the best house for the job, if that would not have raised suspicion. I needed a very wide distribution, more chances for them to find it, not something as trivial as their money.

Yet the money certainly came.

And so did the letters.

Just never the one I am waiting for.

I have to believe he has not seen it. It is not that far of a stretch. Who among them would pick up a book such as mine? I cannot for even one moment let myself believe it would be the alternative. Although, I suppose that is far from the truth as that thought haunts my every moment. They have read it. They know. They have seen my naked truths, my reprehensible regrets, and they cannot forgive me; cannot see past what I had let myself become. They can find no shred of the girl they had loved in me now. He has read it and still, I am not enough. These nagging thoughts consume me as they war with my own voice screaming of my stupidity, my pathetic need, my unwavering love for the boy that didn't want me then and that cannot forgive me now.

No, no, he hasn't seen it, I assure myself. Not yet. He will, just give him time. He'll find it, the letter will come.

It will come.

Again, the irony imposes itself. One hundred and fifty years later, one hundred and fifty years of pain and growth and experience and reexamining every available moment with wizened, jaded, and understanding eyes and, yet, here I am just as always before: A broken hearted teenage girl, crying into the early morning, her heart and her window still open to the boy who never comes back.

Yes, the window remains open. In the beginning, I had believed it an odd claustrophobia, an understandable compulsion based on so many years living nomadically reminding me, in a sense, of home. I had believed it nothing more than an inability to be truly at ease without the comforting breeze, the easy escape. Yet again, the irony; such an obvious sign, a foreboding compulsion, a trigger glaring at me in every house I had ever occupied and still I remained oblivious.

Although, it had taken quite some time to genuinely forgive him, I can only now truly understand Garrett's motivations. Only now do I wonder, too late of course, if he had been right all along. If I would have been better off continuing in my blind love of the boy I did not know, remaining ignorant of all the pain knowing him would bring me.

Again, it is these could-have-beens that whisper the beauty of the never-to-be that slowly destroy me.

The early ray of sun creeping through the small window breaks my reprieve and startles me. I have been up here much longer than I had intended. Garrett should be arriving shortly and I have yet to find his things. With one last caress of its cover, I place the book, my memories, and my heart back on the dusty boxes and turn back to the clutter in search of my original intent.

At last, I find the box labeled Garrett. I carry it down to the kitchen table and begin to unpack. A few shirts, always button downs; he is offended by the informality of t-shirts. A few pairs of pants and shoes— sneakers, hiking boots, a pair of loafers if we need something more formal (not that I have ever been able to get shoes on him without a violent debate)—and a lovely blue pinstriped suit along the same lines of thinking (both the formality and debate).

There is a brand new package of hair ties in the middle. I should have a few more packages around here somewhere. He always got such a kick out of them. Well, as long as they matched the color of his hair and were simple and ruffle free. I'll never forget the look on his face when I had once innocently offered mine when his leather cord had broken. He had stomped off, mumbling to himself but I do believe I had heard the word transsexual. It has always amused me, with all the advances in technology since his birth, he is incredibly taken with small things such a hair ties and aerosol deodorant; not that he has a need for it. He just finds these small conveniences incredibly fascinating. Having lived more than a century and a half myself, I suppose I can understand the appeal. As soon as you believe something cannot possibly be improved upon it is and by drastic measure.

I reach the bottom of the box and pull out the pack. I double check that it is filled with his usual toiletries and a few spare changes of clothing and paperbacks. His current things are headed directly to the bin the moment he hits the threshold. Well, that is if he decides to show up with anything this time. The last time he had decided to grace me with his presence, I had returned from a hunt only to find him in nothing but my bathrobe sitting on my couch and laughing heartily at the Saturday morning cartoons.

The doorbell pulls me from my memories and surprises me. It is very unlike him to bother with something as trivial as announcing his arrival. Although, I should know better by now than to let anything he does surprise me. Still, I cannot suppress my grin as I flash to the door and play along in whatever game he has decided to play. Doorknob in hand, I call out to him.

"Who is it?" I sing-song through the door.

"Bella," He calls to me with a strain in his voice. "Just open the door, please."

Grinning ear to ear, I swing the door open and my smile falls as I see him with his head bowed playing nervously with a small velvet box.

Instantly, the panic sets in. I have seen him nervous only twice before in almost a century and a half.

"Garrett?" I manage to choke out as I try desperately to understand what could possibly be wrong.

He only opens the small box in response displaying the most gorgeous diamond I have ever seen.

"It's beautiful," I say admiring the ring, still unsure of both the ring and what exactly he is doing on my doorstep with it.

"It's yours," He replies quietly.

I am momentarily stunned.

"Garrett, I…"

But I trail off as he raises his head, smiling softly as his amber eyes reach mine.

Without a second thought my smile matches his as I throw myself on him with a force that almost sends us both off the porch. I hold onto his broad shoulders as the joy overwhelms me and I cannot seem to decide between the laugher and sobs that threaten to overcome me.

I continue to cling to him on my doorstep with a hold that would shatter anything else as I hiccup and choke on emotions more than a hundred years in the making.

Eventually calm enough, I hold him at arm's length and meet his eyes once more. The smile on his face wider than I have ever seen and I cannot help but throw my head back and laugh as he has finally, finally understood.

"Well Garrett," I manage to say, as I snake my hand through his arm and grab the small box. "It's about damn time."

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_Please!_

_Don't hate me too much_

_For I hate cliffies too_

_But for the sake of the story_

_It's what I had to do_

_You need some answers_

_Of this I'm well aware_

_Just hold on for the next one_

_You will find plenty there_

_The next chapter is massive_

_And from a great point of view_

_But there is much more to write_

_Before I send it to you_

_A small piece of advice_

_If you think you can't last_

_Sometimes to find what you seek_

_You must look to the past_

I have said it before, and I mean it, I do not and will never hold chapters hostage for reviews. But, nothing lights a fire under my butt when I'm writing than reviews from you. Seriously, your reviews keep me going! So review, please! And I will be busting my hump to get you the next and ridiculously long chapter as soon as I can!


	20. Unexpected

_(Long obnoxious A/N warning!)_

_Hi all! So, so sorry for the long wait for this one, but you can certainly see why it took so darn long! Seriously people, I promised you massive and that is exactly what you are getting. This chapter is over 21,000 words! To put that in context, with all my A/N the whole story is 56,000 words before this chapter. So yeah, it is insane!_

_Hopefully you will forgive me!_

_**VERY IMPORTANT NOTES FOR THIS CHAPTER:**_

_**Garrett calls Bella Elisabeth. She does not know her real name and considering she 'died' recently she can't use it yet anyway.**_

_**Charles and McKenna are European Vampires and friends of Garrett per SM cannon**_

_**My Volturi are a bit more mellow than their cannon counterparts**_

_**I did a boat load of research for this one. All of the details and technicalities damn near drove me crazy. On that note, I tried really, really hard to make everything historically and geographically accurate. Any large and obvious inaccuracies are intentional and should be well explained. Come to the forum if you have unanswered questions!**_

_**http://www**__** (dot) twilighted (dot)net/forum/viewtopic(dot) php?f=33&t=2034&start=100&st=0&sk=t&sd=a **_

_**Endless thanks to:**_

_Every one of you that reads and reviews this story. I cannot believe I hit 500! What an amazing accomplishment! Thank you so much for that. You don't know what it means to me. _

_My girls….you know who you are, and if you don't know how much I love you all, you'll figure it out pretty soon…._

_The Fabulous country of Norway, that has granted me: Beate (my very first FF friend and author of Magnetism – go check it out! __http://www (dot) fanfiction__ (dot)net/s/4924968/1/Magnetism), KristinEku, Espen Lind, Kurt Nilsen, Alejandro Fuentes, Askil Holm, Norwegian Idol and the amazing sculpture of Vigeland, that rocks my world entirely!_

_JenWordSong, the Grammar Fairy. Jen, I really, really hope you don't hate me for this one. You wouldn't hate me, right? Jen? _

_Smudge, the ying to my yang, my better half and beta extraordinaire. Smudge braved endless re-writes, an insecure author ready to burn the story in frustration and even a damn earthquake to bring this one to you. S, you know I couldn't do it without you!_

_**This chapter goes out to my Betas: Smudge and JenWordSong**__. Hopefully they will both be speaking to me when all of this is said and done. For what it's worth chickas, I cannot thank you enough!_

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GPOV

Immediately follows Storm: Control

It takes her forty three days to speak to me again. Forty three days and nights of nothing but sobbing and random outbursts of violence, fortunately not aimed in my direction. Forty three days and nights of watching her breakdown and accept the life she now holds. Forty three days and nights of questioning my judgment in changing her, questioning my decision to not give her the knowledge of the alternative. Forty Three unbearable days of hating myself for letting this happen to her. The moment I had come upon her so small and broken and suffering in that room my heart shattered right alongside of hers. I have failed her. She trusts me entirely and I am failing her still.

I look over to her in her seat, sitting straight as a rod as she grips the armrests with such force I am genuinely surprised they have not yet shattered beneath her fingers. Her physical strength has almost completely waned to a normal level. Not that normal bodes well for the armrests either.

"How are you faring, darling?" I call to her across the aisle at a human volume. She turns to me with a scowl. I chuckle as I realize it is the most detailed answer I will likely be receiving until we land when she allows herself to resume breathing. Luckily, to anyone watching-not that anyone is watching as we are practically secluded in a nearly empty first class-it would appear as if she is merely terrified to fly; not terrified that she is going to violently ravage nearly a hundred passengers and crew members at 30,000 feet, which, of course, is the true cause of her stress.

I had believed this would be good for her though. Not just the trip, but the flight. Her confidence had been completely shattered by the…_incident_...and I had believed giving her the opportunity to reclaim some faith in her strength and control would help lift her spirits. This trip is sure to. It has not been very long since my last tour through Europe but I believe the change of scenery will be good for her. As much as I savor my solitude, I do have a great many acquaintances in the counties we plan to visit and I thought she would benefit from being around others of our kind. Of course, there is the added benefit of my knowing Cullen is not in Europe.

In truth, I have to do something before the guilt consumes me entirely.

What has this girl done to me?

I leave her to her unnecessary stress and try yet again to convince myself I am doing the right thing. There are no alternatives, I remind myself.

The most regrettable of my many mistakes has been how drastically I had underestimated her. As I had warned her in the beginning, most find the adjustment to this life difficult. She is hardly the first to war with her conscience and struggle with what she has become; I remember it well. Most of us go through an experience similar to hers as we try to defy our nature. I have just never, ever seen anyone take it to the extreme the way she had.

That first day I had laughed when she had told me in her adorable, innocent, little conviction that she had decided to stage a hunger strike. I had been sure she would not last the week. She was too young, too hungry. She could not have yet developed the control it would take to repress her instincts for long. So, she would try—I had believed—and she would fail. Most likely she would try and fail again. Maybe, for she is surely as stubborn as I am blonde, she would try and fail once more before finally being able to concede to being what she is. She would mourn and she would rage and then she would accept. And we would move on.

At least, that is usually how it works. I should have known better than to expect the usual from this girl.

I had become concerned as her strengths began to fade yet had assumed it was only a sign the drive would be sure to break her soon. As the days passed in the same manner and as her body failed, I had panicked. I had tried everything short of revealing the carefully guarded secret that would surely lead to her eternal suffering. I had scared her, fought her, and threatened her, and I… _yes I_… had even gone as far as to beg. By the time she could barely walk under her own power I was frantic. Had she not remained in my arms I would have surely been tearing out my own hair with the strain.

I had not known what to do. If I did nothing, I truly feared for her existence. I had never heard of one of our kind perishing from starvation but even if she remained it would be in what condition; a motionless, unanimated rag doll in place of a girl? Is that what I had damned her to become? And what was my alternative? Reveal to her the truths I had so carefully guarded and watch as she became an immortal incarnation of the empty, broken, and ruined child I had known only months ago?

My purpose in changing her had been to rescue her from the Hell that deplorable boy had left her to. Had she known of all that had once destroyed her she would be damned to an eternity of endless suffering. She would remain forever in her sanctuary of that patio chair consumed once again with her loss, waiting fruitlessly for that pathetic, dishonorable _thing_ to pull his head from his ass and return for her. There is no recovery from the loss of one's mate and I have no doubts now that wretched snake was her mate. There is no other explanation for her ability to cling to his memory the way she has. Almost two millennia later, Marcus is certainly a testament to our ability for eternal mourning.

Although I had not known it at the time, our resolve had broken concurrently. As she had submitted to her nature, I had submitted to my conscience, my concern for her. I had finally come to terms with the scale having been fully tipped. In her condition the worry of the result of this discovery no longer outweighed the worry I had of her health. As I had hunted my own prey I had come to the conclusion there was no risk to her if she would no longer be animated enough to be aware of it. I could not stand by and watch her wither away more than she already had. I would not leave her to be broken by my hands, my choices in place of _his_.

I decided then that if her memories returned—if she was able to somehow recover her last days—I would do every single thing in my power to prevent her from following in Marcus' wake. I would keep her by my side for the rest of time and busy her, distract her, amuse her. If it came down to it, I would bear the responsibilities I had chosen to accept when I had changed her. _He_ may have broken her beyond her ability to heal, but I alone condemned her to an eternity. I would spend that eternity making her laugh, seeing her smile, and reminding her whether or not she had her inadequate mate by her side or not she could still find joy in the world. And she would find it, I would assure it.

Had I only been able to find a large suitable prey more easily. Had I brought her with me or brought the stag to her before I had hunted for myself, I might have made it to her in time. As it stood, I had been only a half mile from the cabin—dead and disgusting creature thrown over my shoulders—when I had caught her sole scent heading in an unexpected direction. Her scent only hours old remained a beacon towards her despite the raging storm. I had raced through the barren land tracking her, a man on fire consumed in panic.

My heart shattered as I came upon her, the broken bodies shielding her almost completely from my view as she rocked and mumbled, choking on the tears that would never come. And—although I had been praying for her will to break, for her instinct to rage, and for her to be restored— in the moment my eyes met hers I would have given my immortal life to ease a fraction of the pain I had found in them. The guilt overwhelmed me as she shied from my touch. It ate me alive as I recited funeral prayers to the very best of my murky recollection. It burned part of me along with her faith and that home as I held her small body in my arms and carried her away from the horror I had been selfishly anticipating.

As she recovered from the loss of her humanity and struggled through the acceptance of what I had made her, I had cursed myself for destroying her in ways even her cowardly mate had not. I had sworn to myself I would spend the rest of our time together redeeming myself in her eyes. She had deserved better than I had offered her. She is no longer the weak and mortal child I knew, that _he _had left behind. She is strong, she is my equal and it is beyond time I treat her as such.

As she had settled I had suggested this trip; this opportunity to show her marvels she had only read about, see the glories of the world through her own eyes. I am hoping to distract her from all the things and the past we are leaving behind us. Maybe I can gain back her trust, although, she has certainly given me no indication she holds me responsible. In fact, since the end of her constant mourning for the lives she had taken has waned, she has tried desperately to shield me from the depth of her pain. Like so many of her unexpected reactions, it only makes her more endearing.

But, her ignorance of the fact it is entirely my fault does not lessen the burden on my shoulders.

The plane begins its final descent and I can see her beginning to finally relax in her seat. Now we just have to endure Heathrow and we can hunt on the way to Charles. He should not be difficult to locate. I had seen him only months ago and he has the tendency to stick to one country for some time before moving on. At the very least, this should be amusing.

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It takes only eight days to find McKenna's scent in the woods, and another day before we sense Charles' as well. I am confident we will encounter them shortly. As the scent strengthens, I slow my pace and she matches me.

"Elisabeth, do you recall what I had told you of extraordinary gifts?" I ask her as we run at a human pace.

"Of course I do, why do you ask?" she questions, brimming with curiosity. Charles will be the first she has encountered that possesses a gift.

"Charles, the acquaintance we are currently tracking, is one with talent and I was hoping you would be willing to humor me with a small favor."

"What could you possibly be plotting now?" she asks gazing at me with narrowed and suspicious eyes.

"I would like you to lie to Charles at every available opportunity." I inform her with a smile.

"That has to be the strangest query yet, Garrett." she responds with a laugh. "Care to let me in on the joke?"

"Charles is a polygraph of sorts. He possesses the ability to sense dishonesty in others. It is a very useful talent, yet it drives him to near insanity when it is consistently provoked." I reply with a grin.

"So you are asking me to purposely annoy your friend? Why would you want to do that?" she asks innocently with a furrowed brow.

"Trust me, my dear," I respond with a smirk, "not only has he earned it, he expects it of me by now. And of course, it is incredibly amusing."

"You are one strange bird, Garrett Harsin." she replies with a shake of her head, but the small smile I see on her face fills me with joy.

It takes only hours to find them in a small house tucked into the woods. They are both waiting for us on the doorstep, intrigued. It is far from my convention to visit often. Usually a decade or more will pass before we meet again. I'm sure the addition of Elisabeth at my side has rendered them beyond curious. Regardless the company I keep, I have always traveled alone.

"Harsin, to what do I owe this honor?" Charles calls as we near.

"I had missed you too much to stay away long." I reply with a smile as I see his twitch of annoyance.

"Of course," he replies with a roll of his eyes taking my hand. "And who is your lovely companion?" he questions, taking Elisabeth's hand and placing a kiss to the back.

"I am Gertrude," she replies with a wink in my direction.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance Gertrude, any friend of Garrett is a friend of mine. I am Charles and this is my mate McKenna, welcome to our home." Charles replies with no indication of her dishonesty. Odd, perhaps he is being polite I can't decide which is more concerning, his lack of a reaction or the possibility he is being voluntarily courteous.

"Wonderful to meet you both, Garrett has told me much about you." She replies politely.

"I'm sure that he has," Charles responds with a smirk. "Unfortunately, I am unable to claim likewise. May I inquire how you came across this hellion?" he rudely asks of her with a tilt of his head in my direction. He has always been far too nosy for his own good. In being guaranteed honesty in all he encounters, he has somehow convinced himself he is equally entitled to all he wishes to know. Not that he would ever admit believing such.

She remains unfazed by his impropriety and meets my eyes with a smirk of her own before turning back to Charles. I am thrilled to see her so animated, and almost enjoying herself in the company of my acquaintances. It has been far too long since I have seen her amused for more than a passing moment.

"Well, that is quite the story, Charles." she begins dramatically. "I had been out hunting and came across a band of religious zealots tying this one here to a spit." she announces with a nod of her own towards me. "Another had lit the fire and, of course, there were many more with their pitchforks and torches. He had seemed so helpless and I was not entirely opposed to acquiring a pet so there really was no choice but to swoop in and rescue him. I have kept him by my side since as I find him rather amusing." she finishes with an appraising look in my direction.

Through her tale I am trying desperately to maintain my façade and not burst out laughing. What an imagination she has! Religious zealots and being turned on a spit. Where would she come up with such things? Just when I think she can be no more endearing, she claims me as her pet. I am practically euphoric to see her bantering playfully, no sign of any of her heartache etched on her face.

I am so consumed in studying her face and maintaining my own composure, I do not notice Charles' reactions until he addresses me directly.

"She speaks the truth?" he questions with a wrinkled brow. He appears an odd mix of confusion and shock.

"Of course she does, I am forever indebted to Gertrude and will remain her pet eternally." I continue our charade with confusion of my own at his odd reaction.

My study of Charles is abruptly interrupted as Elisabeth stumbles back shaking her head.

I instinctually growl and grab her small wrist tightly in my hand to pull her behind me against the stone walls of the house, as I crouch towards the forest. I lean forward in a deep stance of defense as I scan the surrounding area as quickly as possible. I turn to Charles who has assumed an identical pose guarding his mate.

"Who is in the area?" I demand of him; someone had to be inflicting a talent upon her to invoke such reaction.

"No one," he replies, his concern matching mine. "I have come across no other in our months here."

"Tell me what you feel." I call back to her, not rising from my crouch, as I peak my senses to the most of my ability in a fruitless attempt of locating the threat. If we can figure out the parameters of the talent attacking we may be able to discern who is challenging us and more importantly why.

"Nothing Garrett, I feel nothing now." she replies in an even voice, calmly placing her small hand on my shoulder. "I was simply light-headed for just a moment. I am fine now, I swear. Please Garrett, relax it was nothing." she pleads softly as she rubs my shoulder in effort to calm me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. I feel the growl rising through me at her condescending tone and casual dismissal of a very dangerous situation. Even now she continues to have no sense of self preservation at all, and given the current circumstances I find it increases my ire considerably.

"We do not get light-headed, Elisabeth!" I growl to her. "Only an attack would affect you in that way!"

"Elisabeth?" Charles rises from his crouch in complete surprise. "Her name is not Gertrude?"

"Charles!" I practically shout. "Now is hardly the time to concern yourself with my teasing!" I continue to scan the area becoming more infuriated as each moment passes with no sign of an assailant. Who would be able to affect her that way? Jane is not controlled enough to target a specific area so I do not believe the Volturi are to blame. Katie needs contact, not that she would this far from home anyway. Could one of Cullen's coven possess an offensive gift? I know the warrior, one of Maria's guard had been an empath but there have been rumors of more talent within his coven. It would not surprise me, but why would they target her? They should…

"Harsin! Are you listening? I had said I did not have any indication of her dishonesty!" Charles shouts with fervor to match my own effectively pulling me from the sole track of defense and my tactical musings.

"You could not sense her?" I repeat for confirmation.

"Nothing," He replies rising from his defensive stance completely and turning to Elisabeth with a smile, leaving me completely stunned. Has he finally lost his mind? "And that has happened only once before."

"When?" I demand, reaching the end of my tolerance. I find my hands reaching for my temples and as I vainly attempt to rub the stress from my mind I wonder – for easily the millionth time – how in such a short period of time my life has become this incredibly complicated.

"Maggie," is his only reply. Maggie, little Maggie of Siobhan's coven? What in the world would Maggie have to do with this? Why would Maggie be able to…

Oh.

_Oh!_

"Garrett, if you please…" Charles requests with an unfailing grin on his youthful face and a rather dramatic wave in Elisabeth's direction.

"Garrett?" Elisabeth looks to me with equal parts confusion and fear. I take a step towards her and hold her small hands in mine.

"Do not worry, my dear." I encourage her with a smile. Her brow wrinkles as I lean in close to her ear. Oh please lord, let him be wrong. I would much rather deal with an attack than the confirmation of his theory.

"I think I do prefer Gertrude to Elisabeth, I believe suits you better." I whisper into her ear, instantly holding my breath and offering silent prayer to every deity I can remember.

The words have barely left my lips as she stumbles back yet again shaking her head in her hands. Damn! This is bad. This is incredibly bad. How in god's name am I supposed to…

"Ah Ha!" Charles calls from behind us with a laugh as McKenna peaks around his side and offers Elisabeth a small smile that screams of condolence. "I am correct and you, my friend," he says with a clap to my back, "are in for some serious trouble."

"What was that?" Elisabeth questions, her head still cradled in her hands, leaning against the stone cottage for support. "Everything was momentarily…"

"Red?" Charles offers with his still unfailing grin. Her head snaps up quickly at his comment and she can only manage to nod infinitesimally as she stares wide eyed and trembling at Charles. I am about to pop him myself for scaring her so when he finally decides to explain to her the true cause of her reactions.

"That, my dear," he informs her finally with a look of reverence, "is my albatross. Red is the color of dishonesty."

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"Forgive me Charles, but I have one more question. How is it that I cannot sense anything from you?" Elisabeth asks over the table.

Charles has been attempting to teach her to deal with the finer points of her newfound ability for several days. Her control is improving, but she still has far to go. She can focus enough to remain unresponsive to a random lie in conversation, but continual mistruths affect her to near collapse. I am becoming increasingly tense as I witness her cringing repeatedly at the lies we are throwing at her. But, as Charles had suggested, this is the safer course. It would be preferable to teach her to control in this manner than risk the possibilities of her becoming overwhelmed in an unstructured setting. Or, even worse, to encounter one who would know her talent based on her uncontrolled reactions and attempt to take her. He may be an occasional ass and a gossip, but in this instance I have no choice but to concede to his vast knowledge on the topic at hand. Still, there have been more than a few times over the past few days I have had to offer my apologies and go running before I throttled either Charles or McKenna for what they were doing to her.

"Now that Elisabeth is a rather interesting phenomenon," he begins leaning towards her over the table.

"As if being able to visualize the dishonesty of others were not phenomenal enough." I mutter under my breath earning a scowl from both of them.

"I have a hypothesis based on my experience with Maggie, but I am not entirely aware the true cause." he begins, with an incredibly unusual seriousness. "As you must have figured out by now, Maggie is a 'polygraph' also. Her gift works in exactly the same manner as ours. When I had encountered her in Ireland, we were also entirely immune to each other. She could not sense me as I could not sense her, yet we could sense the others around us with no difficulty. Also, in the company of Maggie, my sense was heightened. As you have experienced, the red flash is forceful and jarring, almost violent. If you were to be a distance from me I assume your gift would be at a much more manageable level, normal level, if you will."

"Normal," I scoff with a smile and I earn a swift slap to the back of my head from McKenna for my teasing. I chuckle with the others and smile widely towards Elisabeth to ensure she is aware my teasing is only in jest. In all honesty, as much as I am troubled by her _training _I am thrilled at the distraction that has presented itself to her. She is engaged and focusing so astutely on managing her gift that I am almost certainly assured for the first time she is not mourning her nature or that stupid cretin. This is a wonderful development for her, yet a small nagging part of me cannot help but dwell on the new complications that are sure to arise in my ensuring of her safety.

"So essentially, we are immune to others with similar gifts, yet our talents are enhanced with their proximity?" she questions him, ever the diligent student.

"No, Elisabeth. Not _similar_ talents." he stresses, not breaking eye contact. "Only a talent exactly the same as yours will render you immune or enhance its ability. Maggie had told me of an encounter she had with another of our kind, Rachel. Rachel is also a 'polygraph' of sorts. But where you, Maggie and I only have an indication of a falsehood, Rachel would see the truth in the mind of the bearer; where I would see only red if Garrett were to call you Gertrude, Rachel would be able to see him calling you Elisabeth in her mind. Maggie and Rachel were not immune to each other nor were their abilities enhanced. Also I have heard rumors of a similar situation passed down from Volterra." He adds as I raise my eyes to his and try to convey a warning. Elisabeth has no need to be frightened with stories of Volterra. He continues despite my reluctance.

"There is one tracker in Volterrra. His talent affords him the ability of attuning to the location of anyone he may focus on. He is incredibly powerful and is consistently successful in his ventures. The only instances he is ever ineffective is in the event he needs to locate another tracker. He is unable to focus on anyone possessing that specific talent and it enrages him to no end when another must be dispatched to find someone through alternate measures."

I attempt to stifle my laugh. Charles gossips like an old woman and the thought of a Dmetri temper tantrum is incredibly amusing. I rack my mind for the identity of another tracker I could use to provoke him to such a reaction.

"Do you know why?" She asks of him.

"Like I have mentioned, I have come up with a hypothesis of my own, but I know no way of confirming it." he announces proudly, while I roll my eyes. "I believe it is almost an act of self preservation. While having our abilities enhanced or affecting another that possesses the same talent would be relatively harmless, could you imagine the destruction if other more dangerous talents collided while being enhanced?"

His focus entirely on Elisabeth, Charles continues with his tutorial. "I know of an American empath, Jen. I'm certain if Jen encountered another empath and their abilities became enhanced but not immune two things would happen. First, they would be absorbing and issuing the heighted emotions they sensed in the vicinity. Second, they would also be feeding on the enhanced emotions of the other. If either were to panic or lose control then the other would as well. Moreover, they would project the same to anyone in as large of a radius they were able to affect. Who knows how far they could project, or the consequences of their loss of control? "

In typical Charles fashion, he cannot resist adding another more sinister example for Elisabeth's consideration. "As another example, there is a girl in Volterra with the ability to mentally inflict pain on others. If she were able to affect someone with an identical gift it would incur the same results. If she or the other were to use that talent, the one affected would have no control and quite probably take down anyone in proximity involuntarily. If the attacker in this situation were to be taken down as well, the cycle would be unending, overriding each other's gift and incapacitating anyone close with eternal pain."

I cannot help the cringe as he mentions Jane. I had been under her spell only once myself. And while I believe it was more for her personal amusement than an actual punishment, I have made it a goal to never experience it again.

"Wow…well I have to agree with your theory Charles that is certainly a valid reason." She says contemplating the vast possibilities of all he had explained.

"Please Elisabeth, do not encourage him. His ego is quite substantial already." McKenna pleads of her with a smirk in Charles' direction.

I cannot hold back the laugh that erupts at her very accurate accusation.

"I adore you as well, my love." he calls back to her sarcastically but with such a loving smile I must turn away before my eyes betray my heart to mirror Elisabeth's.

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"…Of all days for the London weather to break. So there I was, trapped beneath the River Thames until the unexpected sun had fallen and I was free to rise without attracting attention as a disco ball." Charles finishes his story with a chuckle as we all burst out laughing.

"Charles, you are British by birth?" She asks in genuine surprise, shuffling the cards. We have broken from her talent training, as she had dubbed it, and are now playing any card games we can remember; Charles and McKenna from their youth and my multitude from the War. The options are slim considering two of our four players have a rather unfair advantage when it comes to poker.

"Of course, I had thought I mentioned that." I reply with an arched eyebrow, curious as to her reaction. When I had imagined any possible concerns in their meeting, Charles' place of birth had hardly registered.

"Forgive me, I was just surprised." she quietly admits purposely directing her attention back to her hand.

"Really, how so?" McKenna questions as she slaps her card to the table.

"Well, he has no discernable accent and given your history Garrett, I had just never expected an Englishman as one of your closest consorts." she admits without raising her gaze. I can't help but feel touched she had paid such close attention to my ramblings.

"Ah, yes dearest Elisabeth. You see, on more than one occasion old Charles here proved where his loyalties lie." I reply with a smirk in his direction, hoping to pull her from her unwarranted embarrassment.

Charles cannot help but laugh in response.

"As for my accent, I assure you it is alive and well but very dated and would attract a great deal of attention in itself. I tend to keep it rather guarded while I pass myself as yet another ignorant American." He replies with another chuckle as his eyes rise in my direction as if to convey the sentiment 'like you,' the arrogant ass. He turns his attention back to Elisabeth as he continues his defense. "And as far as my loyalties… well my dear, your Garrett and I have had a great many joint adventures and he has most certainly earned them." He directs to her while sparing me a glance that can only be described as 'your mouth shall remain closed, sir.'

"Oh really, and what such adventures would you be referring to Charles?" She directs to him with an innocence I am well aware is fabricated. "What could you have possibly done to repent your illustrious British heritage?" she continues with her eyebrows raised.

I cannot bite back the laugh at hearing him put in his place by my little newborn. Back in our day, a lady would hesitate before even addressing a gentleman she was not well acquainted with and, most certainly, would have never encouraged details of a comment such as his. While our antiquated customs are most certainly foreign to her, the gentle and false innocence she is portraying is enough for me to realize not only does she have a fairly good idea of what it is she is doing but she is enjoying it almost as much as I am. Well played, my girl: Touché.

'Well good sir, you have certainly dug your own hole here.' I respond silently through a smirk of my own towards Charles.

"Ah, well as Garrett had mentioned, I have on more than one occasion proven my loyalty. What would you say had been one of the more outstanding moments in my redemption, Garrett?"

The bastard.

Both Elisabeth and McKenna turn to me expectantly while Charles narrows his gaze in warning. Damn! What to give away without throwing Charles into the stew pot myself? Think Harsin! Think!

"Well, I would have to say Charles here became a genuine turncoat when assisting in the dismantling of certain integral pieces of an unnamed prestigious timepiece in London." I reply with a chuckle. "Charles, my friend, those were the days."

"Ah, that they were my brother, that they were," he responds with a chuckle of his own.

"You had taken apart Big Ben?" Elisabeth questions in shock, her little mouth hanging open.

"On more than one occasion," Charles replies as his chuckle turns to laughter.

McKenna simply shakes her head while slapping Charles upside the back of his. "I should have known." She mumbles to herself.

"Well, Elisabeth dear, we hadn't exactly dismantled him. More that we had just made a few interior…_renovations_…" I answer her with a Cheshire cat grin.

"And you two have done this more than once?" she asks, still disbelieving.

"That we have." I reply with a smile. "Let's see, the first time would have been back in the 70's." And I laugh harder at the thought of Elisabeth not having even been born in her first incarnation yet.

"Ah, but unfortunately we had very little idea of how to go about stopping him and we ended up snapping the wrong cable and creating quite a bit of damage." Charles continues for me. "How long was he down?"

"Quite a while I believe," I reply through the remnants of my laughter, "although I had been rather…_incapacitated_... at the time, so I am not entirely aware the extent of the damage."

"Incapacitated?" Elisabeth questions with an accusatory stare.

"Elisabeth, trust me dear, when I tell you that you are most likely better off not knowing. Isn't that right Garrett?" McKenna turns from patting Elisabeth's hand in a motherly gesture back to me expectantly. And again, I cannot help but feel touched McKenna would go to such lengths to hide my rather lengthy rap sheet from Elisabeth. In all honesty, Aro had assumed from the moment word had reached him that I was certainly involved. In fact, I believe he had me rounded up, the counsel fully assembled, and my usual cell prepared and waiting before I had so much entered the gates Dmetri in tow.

"It was quite a while before we had attempted it again." Charles takes the opportunity to distract Elisabeth from questioning me further, and I sent him a grateful smile.

"What was it, '97 I believe, we had finally managed to get it stopped without causing damage?" he asks in my direction slyly gauging McKenna's reaction to the tale of our adventure.

"That is was brother." I concede, chuckling again. "They had it running again not long after, so not even a month later we had snuck in and stopped it again."

"And you had not been further…_incapacitated…_ for your continuing involvement?" Elisabeth accuses with a stern glare identical to one I can vaguely remember earning often from my mother. And although she has no claim to me, I cannot help but cower slightly under her gaze.

Charles booming laugh cuts through the tension and has us all laughing again.

"Of course not dear," I reply with a kiss to the back of her hand, raising my eyes through my eyelashes to meet hers in an attempted look of innocence. "We had been much more stealthy and discreet in the subsequent attempts."

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After settling in for a few days, Charles and I had left the ladies to…well whatever it is exactly women do when left to themselves and went hunting.

Finally satiated walking through the thick underbrush, Charles had started on the latest gossip.

"Have you heard the latest from Volterra?"

I can't help but snort. I can only imagine what the aristocracy could possibly be up to, as I have not been privy to the inner goings on of the city in more than a few decades.

"Well, whatever it is, it is certainly not I this time, the Romanians again?" I question.

As far as I believe, since both myself and the southern covens have been surprisingly well behaved lately, the Romanians are the only remaining thorns in the collective Volturi side.

"Apparently one of Cullen's coven had made quite a commotion."

I can't help but freeze at the name.

"One of Carlisle Cullen's coven?" I confirm, still frozen in shock.

"Yes, the mind reader. Apparently he had stormed the castle and created quite the uproar!" Charles smirks, the gleam evident in his eye. "Can you imagine? As I had told you many times over my friend, it was simply a matter of time. Their deviation from the natural order of things was bound to have consequences eventually. I am genuinely only surprised it has taken this long for any of them to be struck by insanity." he continues, shaking his head.

I choose to ignore his comment on their diet being the cause of their troubles. It is a debate we held in countless form throughout the years. Although I had attempted it out of curiosity and respect for Cullen preceding my visit, I have no desire to live the lifestyle myself. But I had always been in awe of Cullen's restraint, his faith, and dedication to the life they had chosen. Well, that, and I know this particular event has nothing to do with their dietary restrictions.

"Why?" is the only reply I can manage.

"Well, that is the very best part," he replies gleefully, "it was over…you are not going to believe this…"

"Tell me," I growl exasperated.

"Calm down, dear friend, what has come over you lately?" He looks to me cocking an eyebrow. "Anyway, it was apparently over a human! A human; can you imagine that?"

"A human…" I mumble through my shock; a human, my human. Well, not a human any longer, but still, what other human could it have possibly been? Why would he have stormed the castle over my human? I feel the panic rising through me. Dmetri and I had not exactly parted on the best of terms and I would much prefer to not encounter either he or his brain damaged hulking counterpart. Would Cullen have set the Volturi on my trail for taking the girl? I would not expect that of him. Surely I had expected his ire, maybe even his wrath, but the Italians? Could he be that angry? I would expect much more of him. At the very least our one time friendship would dictate we attempt a private counsel before involving the courts. Damn it, damn him! He knows just how much trouble I had managed them previously and, although this is certainly not a capitally punishable offense, Cullen is favorably in Aro's graces. Much, much more than I am that is for damn sure. Aro would not mind another reason to drag me before the counsel, especially at the whims of Cullen. Damn it! Well this is what I get for meddling in the affairs of others.

"Harsin, are you even listening to me?" Charles questions in annoyance.

"My apologies Charles that is…" my being royally screwed is what I'm really thinking, "insane."

"And that is not even all!" he continues despite my distraction.

I can only imagine, well, I could probably guess at this point. But I suppose it would be best to have as much information going in as possible. I'll have to go to Italy. I don't want them within 100 miles of Elisabeth. The spark of talent she is already exhibiting would have them coveting her for a spot on the guard. I have protected her from the boy; I certainly will not stand by as she becomes another piece in Aro's showcase. No, she certainly deserves more than either life would offer her.

I wonder what to do with Elisabeth. I could leave her to Charles and McKenna for now. They should take good care of her until I return from Italy. If I go to them I should have no trouble in keeping her from their attention. I can only hope to claim to have drained her. Damn, that is as long as I do not allow Aro to touch me. I have been able to avoid that before but I find it hard to accept I would be able to get away with it in this situation. Damn! Damn Cullen! Damn Aro! Damn sad crying broken little girl that I just had to rescue!

"Apparently he had burst in the middle of a counsel to demand the guard destroy him." He looks expectantly towards me.

"Well, that….wait, what?" my mouth hangs open as Charles laughs hard enough to break his stride. He appears thrilled with this reaction.

"He stormed into the court, interrupted the three amongst a counsel, and demanded to be burned. Apparently he had been, and you really will not believe this one my friend…" he chokes out through his laughter. "Apparently he had been courting a human! Courting her! And then he killed her in a moment of weakness and was so overcome by the guilt he decided to be the end of himself! Can you believe that?"

Considering the formerly human in question is chatting up his mate, I know I cannot depend solely on this account. But still, if my name had been mentioned at all I was sure to have heard it by now. Besides masquerading as gods amongst the undead, gossip is the official pastime of Volterra's elite. So if he had not actually killed her in a 'moment of weakness', as it was actually I to have that particular honor, what on earth could have possibly been his motivation to make such a request?

"So did they?" I question, still shocked by this unexpected turn of events.

"Of course not," he looks towards me condescendingly. "Aro is much too fond of and intrigued by Cullen to risk angering him so. And you have heard, I'm sure, just how territorial Cullen is of his coven."

"I have," is my automatic reply as I try desperately to make sense of this impossible tale.

"So apparently, and this my friend is the very best of it, apparently when they had denied his request he threw a tantrum fitting a newborn and then planned on provoking them to action!"

"He what?!?" my mind is swimming with the complete insanity of the entire tale. Much, much more than just the death of Elisabeth must be fabricated in his account.

"He had attempted to provoke them to destroy him by creating a scene within the walls!" By now Charles is bent against a tree laughing hard enough to crack the trunk. He takes a moment to catch his breath as I sit on the moss beside him and try to decipher what had been falsehood and what could possibly be the truth. Yes, Charles should have seen through any lies within the gossip sent down from on high. But as long as the bearer had believed the version of the story to have been true, he would not detect anything out of place.

"Oh, that is just too much." He says to himself as his laughter finally subsides.

"What had happened then?" I question him casually, trying to mask my intense curiosity.

"Well, apparently several others of Cullen's coven physically restrained the boy before any damage had been done. And then they had managed to calm him enough to remove him from the city, but not before a final counsel during which the boy was permanently banned from the walls of the city and, from what I have heard, Italy in its entirety—which is much more fitting a punishment, if you ask me."

"And why would you say that?" I question. "Being banned from the city of pompous, pretentious, extravagant asses has hardly put a damper on my fun."

"True enough, dear friend. But, he is one of Cullen's minions, superiority and conscience rule with that one. And now he gets to spend an eternity dealing with disappointing his master and the guilt of eating his little human courtesan. So really the punishment is perfectly fitting. The banishment, I'm sure, was more for the sake of the brothers not having to deal with him again."

"Of, course…" I mutter in reply. But he didn't eat his little human courtesan. So why would he have been in Volterra at all? I still find it hard to believe this has nothing to do with me. But had I been named even once, Dmetri would waste no time tracking me. Given our…_extensive history_…I know he is attuned enough to my mind to have little trouble locating me. But I have had no sign of him. And Cullen would not have departed Volterra without some sort of resolution and Aro would have no qualm in dragging me before the counsel to satiate Cullen. I just cannot make sense of it. It has to be about the girl. I can only assume they must have wanted her returned. Could they have not known it was I that had taken her? No, that cannot possibly be the case. I had been in the house scarcely a year ago. My scent should have been strong enough to be identifiable by Cullen, at least. He would have to know it was me.

"So, my dear friend, you surely must take action for you are in danger of being dislodged."

"What?!?" I look up to him in shock, if he has suspected all along…

"The Cullen boy will surely take your place in the forefront of Aro's vexation if you continue to remain below his radar."

"Oh, oh, of course," I respond with a forced and false deviant smile. "I shall have to ponder a while on what I can possibly do to reclaim the title which is rightfully mine."

"Although I must admit," he says shaking his head through his laughter, "I had never expected to hear of your coup with the fountain bested."

"Ah, the fountain," I give a chuckle in response. The fountain; a truly paramount stroke of genius on my part and the straw that broke Aro's back and cast me permanently from the land of ostentatious egos. I had been bored and realized it had been quite some time since I had paid him any attention. And that simply would not do. I had …_acquired_…a vast amount of donated blood from several hospitals in Germany, after leaving large anonymous donations, of course. And I had ...b_orrowed_… a large refrigerated milk transport truck from a local farm, leaving behind a large anonymous rental fee, of course. A few connections from an underground panel and the city had been honored with a glorious tribute to O positive. I had timed it well for the guests of Volterra had simply assumed the red fountain a tribute to some inane holiday in honor of the illustrious idols. While Caius and Aro had been furious with my gift, I had managed for the very first time to crack Marcus' countenance. I can only assume his amusement is to thank for my permanent banishment and not a more serious sentence.

His laughter again rings through the trees as he helps me to my feet and slaps my back in camaraderie.

"How I have missed our fun, brother."

"As have I," I admit genuinely. I would much prefer to be out causing Aro annoyance running amok through Europe than find myself in the inescapable and difficult situation I find myself in now.

"Although, I suppose the best of days are behind you as well, good sir." He replies with a knowing smile.

"Why would you ever assume that of me, sir?" I question in the same mock genteel. I would have believed he had known me better than to ever assume that there would be an end of days for my ventures.

"Oh please, you honestly expect me to believe you will still be out causing the same trouble with a mate by your side? Surely you have better sense than that." He gives me a rather disapproving glare as if he is actually suggesting I would drag poor little Elisabeth through the Italian sewer system for a laugh.

"Not to insinuate, of course, that I would expect that girl of yours to stand for such things." He continues hands raised in defense. "A little spitfire that one is; you have certainly met your match in her."

He laughs to himself again, "and here I had genuinely believed there would never be one strong enough to tame you."

"Elisabeth is not my mate." I reply automatically. That is too horrific a thought to even entertain, on the same level as being mated to my own flesh and blood.

But…but maybe there is some merit to that. Not in actually having Elisabeth as my mate, that is still disgusting, but if others were to believe us mates…

"You are truthful?" he questions unnecessarily. We both know he is already assured my candor.

"I am," I reply, "but I have considered asking her if she'll have me." I add in sincerity. And I have thought of it. Only moments ago, but nonetheless enough assuage his abilities.

His laughter rings out yet again. "Oh, oh, my brother, this is genuinely too much!"

"What?" I question in honest annoyance. A knife through my still heart; is the thought of my attracting a mate really that much of a merriment?

"Oh," he continues with a chuckle, "I had just never thought I would see the day Garrett Harsin would be reduced to a bumbling school boy by the fairer sex."

"I am hardly a bumbling school boy!" I snap back at him.

"Please Garrett," he continues still chuckling, the bastard, "I hardly require an ability to see the dishonesty in that."

His laugher dies down and we run in quiet peace until it is shattered yet again with his incessant speaking. He could certainly give Elisabeth a run for her money in that regard.

"You love her?" He questions.

"Of course I do." I reply. And I do, as a sister, a daughter, a beloved niece but nonetheless.

"Then I am sure she will have you," he says in all seriousness. If he only knew the half of it I am sure he would not remain so convicted. He pauses and I pause along with him as he offers his hand to me. "And I am genuinely happy for you my dear friend. You have been alone far too long and I like this girl very much." He pulls me into a one armed hug, slapping me on the back yet again. He pulls away and I am not surprised to find the gleam of humor back in his red eyes. "You need someone who is able to put you in your place." He says seriously before continuing in concern, "I do hope she knows how to darn clothing though."

"And why on earth would she need to be able to sew?" I question, genuinely curious and confused. I tend to carry at least one extra set with me and when I am in need of new, I simply purchase them. I may have been brought up under much different customs but I would hardly expect a mate to darn my socks. I am not a complete barbarian; I have lived through women's liberation, after all. There are perks to being in this place and time.

"Well, she will certainly have to hem the length of your trouser legs if she is to be wearing them." He replies with a wink before taking off to the trees like a flash laughing the whole way.

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"Charles," I venture as we head towards the ladies, "I would prefer if this gossip did not reach Elisabeth's innocent ears."

"Of course Garrett, I understand completely." He replies with a wicked and knowing grin.

"You do?!?" I nearly stumble again as I turn to him in horror. He knows; he knows all of it. This was nothing more than a careful ruse to have me admit the truth…

"Of course I do. " He laughs again at my reaction. "Please Garrett, as if I would wish McKenna to go poking through the gossip and catch wind of our…_more colorful…_ adventures."

And, I laugh along with him for he certainly has a point.

"Brother," he continues with a nervous chuckle, "those women of ours would have us quartered and tossed on the pyre by daybreak."

"That they would Charles, that they would," I concede. At least she would if she genuinely were my mate and not just masquerading as such.

And I cannot help the turn my thoughts take as we near our campsite. I can only hope she will see the practicality of this arrangement and not get the wrong impression. The last thing I need is to scare her away with thoughts of unwelcome and untoward behavior on my part. Surely she must know by now I would hardly attempt any un-virtuous advances. How does one politely proposition a woman with something so ridiculous: "Elisabeth, although I find the thought of actually being your mate atrocious, especially since I know you are still madly in love with the boy that destroyed you—whom, of course, you do not recall—I do love you; only as another sister. But still, I do and I would like to protect you to the best of my ability. So how do you feel about pretending to be my wife to help guard you from some overbearing acquaintances in Italy—who continue to hold a grudge—oh, and the reprehensible undead population at large? It will certainly assist me in keeping you safe and well protected in general. Along with my guard and loyalty, I will give you something pretty and shiny; but, I must insist on keeping my pants."

That is sure to go over well.

I hear Charles' booming laughter ring from the trees yet again and realize I had been unconsciously rubbing my temples.

"Something amusing, old friend?" I snap at him.

"It is just entertaining to me, that despite the change in times, customs, and even ourselves some things remain every bit as difficult for us as our human counterparts."

"What could you possibly be speaking of?" I ask with thinly veiled irritation. I hardly need his taunting to add to the stress I am already feeling.

"Brother, if at all possible, I would have expected you to drop to your knees from the strain and worry miles ago." He chuckles again, "an honorable reaction from a man about to propose for the first time in 200 years."

"I am certainly glad you find this amusing." I reply bitterly.

"Oh just think of it this way my friend, at least in our situation there is no need to ask her father's permission. " He suggest with a broad smile.

I can't help but chuckle in tandem.

"Ah, that would be an interesting conversation."

"That it certainly would," I agree, suddenly grateful her father is thousands of miles away.

We return to our camp and I ask Elisabeth to accompany me on a walk. As she rises, I catch sight of Charles behind her flashing his thumbs up followed by some rather crass gestures. I settle for rolling my eyes in place of charging at him for having the audacity in insinuate such things in presence of the ladies; not that they are paying him any mind. I offer my arm to Elisabeth and turn to the tree line as I see him flash to McKenna to share my intentions no doubt. I really must find better friends I think to myself as we venture farther from them.

A few miles out of Charles' hearing range I pause and turn to her consumed in the most ridiculous case of nerves. I rub my temples as I try to calm myself down. This is ridiculous. How in the name of all things holy am I this nervous to not actually propose?

"Garrett, is everything alright?" She asks as she pulls my hands from my face.

"Of course, of course, everything is perfect." I reply, grateful I no longer have a heartbeat to betray me.

"You are lying." She announces in her newfound ability. Damn, I had already forgotten about that.

I can only sigh and remind myself this is nothing more than a charade and I have nothing to be worried about.

"I have a sort of …proposition for you Elisabeth." I respond hesitantly, gauging her reaction.

Her eyebrow raises and she otherwise remains silent. What the Hell do I say to her?

I promise to keep my hands to myself…

While you are certainly attractive, I prefer blondes…

I know you still love that stupid boy but…

You appear to be a decent enough actress…

"How would you like something shiny?" I spurt out before I can stop myself.

"Pardon?" she manages, completely stunned by my incredibly odd outburst.

Idiot, imbecile, moron, I cannot actually be this stupid.

"Why is this hard?" I question aloud before turning back to her and taking her small hands in mine. Just spit it out Harsin!

"I would like you to consider becoming my mate." I tell her firmly. Lord, I must really be coming off as a complete ass. She is going to laugh. Or slap me, or go running off and I will never see her again. Charles will never let me hear the end of this. I'll have to avoid him for a century at least.

"I…oh...what…um…but I don't love…I mean I very much do…but not…like that," she stumbles, looking to my eyes hesitantly.

"Oh, no, of course not," I assure her. "I feel much the same…not like that."

"Okay," she responds slowly, "then why would you ever suggest…"she trails off still staring at me with hesitance.

"Forgive me for not…I just don't know…" I sigh as I drop to sit in the grass and pat the ground beside me. Don't over complicate; just tell her the truth. She deserves your honesty. I wait until she settles beside me and continue. "I do love you Elisabeth, very much so. And I assure you my feelings are not romantic in any capacity. I feel as if you are my family."

I steal a glance to ensure she has not yet gone running and screaming into the woods and am rather surprised to find her grinning widely.

She reaches across and gives my hand a firm squeeze. "I feel exactly the same way," she assures me.

"Good," I reply returning her smile. "But for our kind Elisabeth that bond is quite unusual."

"How so?" She questions.

"Most of our kind is nomadic, like me, or at least as I was. Occasionally we join covens. Most covens are small—two, three at most. These covens are usually founded by convenience and are more temporary than permanent. Sometimes one will sire others who will remain by his side until they are controlled enough to move on by themselves. In other cases, members will unite against a threat. Occasionally, such as with Charles and me, we will band together out of boredom or camaraderie. But as I had mentioned before, usually a coven is a temporary and the bonds between members weak."

I pause to ensure she is paying attention.

"Some are more..._attractive_…to those with ulterior motives. Anyone with a gift is coveted for the extra advantage they possess."

"Like me," she responds dejectedly.

"Exactly," I affirm before continuing. "You would be a very useful addition to any coven, especially one with an agenda."

"I do understand, but what does this have to do with having a mate?" she asks without her former reluctance.

"Well, quite a bit actually," I respond. "As I had mentioned, in a normal coven, the bond between members is weak. They are together only out of convenience or camaraderie. It is not uncommon to have others attempt to—I suppose I'll use the word 'poach' for lack of a better term—members from an existing coven. Usually there is no violence. Someone would just be persuaded to join, either by promises of something better or by turning members against each other and disbanding the existing coven. In rare cases, there is violence. If the gift is valuable enough leaders from the covens will fight over a member. Or kidnap them if the member in question is that valuable. But again, this is very rare. There are few gifts powerful enough to warrant such a response. But, the bond between mates for us is very, very strong; it is all encompassing and unbreakable. One would not hesitate in fighting to the death for their mate. And that is where the benefit lays for us."

"Forgive me Garrett," she interrupts again. "But I still do not completely understand."

I turn to her and hold her small hands in mine. "Basically Elisabeth, there is a very big benefit in having others perceiving us as mates. You see, I may not have a gift as yours but I do have a few strengths of my own. I am rather…_experienced_ when it comes to a combat. Also, I have quite a few …_talented_…acquaintances whose loyalty I have earned. Now, if you are just a member of my coven others would have no qualm in starting trouble to try to gain your gifts for their own use; expecting I would not put up much of a fight. But as my mate they would know I stop at nothing to protect you."

"But what if I were to find my boy?" she questions. "Or if you were to find someone you would genuinely consider as a mate?"

"Of course Elisabeth, if you agree to masquerade as my mate or not you are free to do as you wish at any time. I do not for one moment perceive to have any hold on you at all; I am simply suggesting I would have more of an ability to protect you if others were to believe I had claimed you." I tell her in honesty.

"And your true mate?" she questions again.

"I am not the true mate sort." I reply quickly.

Her forehead scrunches as she counters, "You are lying."

"If I were to meet someone I would consider a mate we would discuss things farther then." I vainly try again.

"Untrue," she huffs as she throws her hands in the air. "Who is she?" She demands.

"There is no one." I reply indignantly.

"Lie to me again Garrett and maybe I will believe you this time." She snaps in annoyance.

"Have I yet told you that little talent of yours is quite irritating?" I question, matching her annoyance with my own.

"Well, it is far from a pleasure for me as well," she responds, "now stop avoiding and tell me who she is."

"It is irrelevant." I snap back at her.

"I would say in this particular instance it is far from irrelevant." She argues with narrowed eyes.

"It is irrelevant!" I practically shout, scaring the birds from the trees. "She does not feel for me as I do her so please leave my wounded ego in peace and leave it be."

"She said no?" she questions with a furrowed brow, more to herself than to me. "How could anyone say no to you?"

"You have." I reply with a smirk as my temper settles.

"Not entirely," she returns my smirk. "You had not disclosed all the pertinent information."

I chuckle as I look over to her again and see nothing but concern.

I sigh and hang my head. "I have never asked," I admit quietly.

"Why not?" she questions, "You are quite the catch Garrett," she continues as she bumps my shoulder with hers.

I sigh again and lay back into the grass, surprised how freeing it feels to finally discuss this with someone.

"We live very differently," I admit. "And she sees me as nothing more than 'her favorite distraction.' She views me as an amusement, the crazy court jester, and not as a suitor. She does not take my attentions seriously. And, she is fiercely loyal to her sis…her coven. I could never take her from them and I don't believe I could stay with them. It is not who I am."

"And you do not believe you are doing a huge disservice to you both by not admitting your feelings for her? How can you know she does not feel the same for you if you have not asked?" she asks in that same gentle tone, yet I feel my temper rising yet again.

"I may be a great many things Elisabeth but I am not dense." I snap.

I cringe against the realization I am taking my frustrations out on her.

"Forgive me, I…" I begin.

"No need Garrett," she interrupts holding her hand up to illustrate her command. "I understand, really I do. And if you wish to not discuss it farther, I can respect that. I did not mean to pry."

"It is not that." I admit. "I just…it is that…she has never given me a single indication she sees me as anything but an amusement. If I admit the depth of my feelings for her and she does not match them I lose her. I will take what she offers me freely and force that to be enough rather than lose her entirely." By now my temper has ebbed yet again fading into the same sadness that always accompanies these thoughts.

"Forgive me Garrett," she begins meekly. "Is she not worth the risk in baring your true feelings?

I open my mouth to counter but she continues despite me.

"Garrett, if you really love her, and one of your larger concerns is the difference between you, is she not worth altering everything to attain her?" Her eyebrows are raised in question but the look on her face is more of a challenge. I am surprised my temper has failed to flare at both the comment and her expression. Instead, the pain in my chest is increasing with the thought of the future that will not be.

"Am I not worth loving as I am?" I counter. And rather than smug, I find I am only disappointed when she has no answer.

We lay in silence watching the sun set below the clouds. I feel her small fingers lace through mine a moment before I hear her soft voice break the silence.

"Garrett?" She calls quietly, "I do like shiny things."

I turn my head to see a small smile playing on her lips.

"And who knows," she continues, "maybe seeing a pretty young thing on your arm will make that silly girl realize what she is missing."

I chuckle freely and prop myself up on my arm as I pull the leather cord from around my neck. She matches my pose and raises her eyebrow as the light catches the small stones set in the ring. It is the first time since I have awoken to this life that the ring is no longer on my person. For the longest time I had no memories of the ring or why I had worn it around my neck. Luckily I had assumed it must have been very important to me and guarded it carefully.

"This was my sister's." I tell her as I undo the knot. "It is one of the very few things that remains from my human life and is the most precious thing I own."

"It's beautiful." She says reverently admiring my one remaining token of Beth.

"As was she," I respond, lost for a moment in the flood of additional memories of my sister granted to me since the day I had changed Elisabeth. "She was my only sibling and back in our time such a small family was the rarity. We had only each other to rely on. She was my counsel, my confidant, my encouragement. I can only hope now I was as good to her as she was to me. We were opposites in almost every way. She was responsible while I was rebellious. She was so sweet and gentle but at the same time she was the strongest person I have ever known. I have always possessed a bit of a wild streak and she was the only one to have the ability to reign me in. And she loved fiercely. I can remember when I had found she was being courted by a school chum of mine, Joseph."

I admit with a chuckle at this memory. "He was not unsuitable by any means but I had believed him not to be good enough for her. When he refused to listen to reason, I had broken his nose. By the time she had returned home from her sewing circle, she had gotten wind of it and beat me purple with her wooden cooking spoon. They were married three months later and I stood as best man and kept my mouth shut, per her demands." I can't help but laugh at my favorite memory of her, one of the few not tainted by the loss of her Joseph.

"You remind me very much of her." I admit.

"What was her name?" she asks cautiously, I assume afraid I will be saddened by remembering her.

"Elisabeth," I respond with a smile, informing her in my own way that I appreciate all she has brought back to me.

"Thank you, Garrett," she says with a smile of her own, "for thinking that highly of me."

I hold one end of the cord and let the ring fall into my hand.

"I assure you Elisabeth, it is I who owes you a great deal of thanks," I admit with a grin. I hold Beth's ring one more moment before extending my open palm and offering the ring to her. "I think she would be pleased to know you wear it now."

She eyes the rings sadly before slightly shaking her head and reaching over curling my fingers back over my palm. Carefully and quietly she offers me her rejection. "Garrett, thank you, but I cannot accept this."

"Pardon?" okay, now I am completely baffled. Did she not mean what I had assumed her to mean when she admitted to liking shiny things? Was that just more of her random commentary? Is it the ring itself? Does she not like rings? I had thought all women like jewelry. Perhaps she would desire something newer? I can scarcely believe she would not appreciate how much this piece means to me and am surprised to realize I am rather hurt by her rejection. Maybe it is me. Maybe she would not wear a ring that isn't _his. _Will I ever learn what to expect with this girl?

She looks to my eyes with a mild sadness that betrays the small smile she wears. "Because this was hers, is yours, and should go to the woman you love not the woman you are pretending to love until the right one says yes." There is no malice in her words, but I hear the words that are not there. She believes I am attempting to take advantage of her? That I am only in her company until something better comes along? After all we have been through, placing the most taxing of my fears, my wretched broken heart by her feet, this is what she thinks of me!?!

"Elisabeth, I am hardly using you to entertain myself until…" I growl through the burning fury of my temper. I am instantly cut short when a small hand is thrown over my mouth. I growl again to prove my annoyance yet she ignores that completely.

"Garrett, that is far from what I am suggesting. It would be wrong for me to take something so meaningful to represent something false. I believe your intentions are honorable, as always. And I fully agree this is probably the wisest course for now, but you should save this for the girl that holds your heart."

"Well then, I'll tell you what my dear," my temper temporarily placated by her insight, I begin threading the ring back on to the leather cord and knotting it. "You hold onto to my heart until—how had you phrased it so eloquently?--until that silly girl sees what she is missing and comes to claim it."

I sit up and place the cord around her neck. She reaches up to hold the ring and smiles brightly.

"Why Garrett, I would be honored to be your keeper until then." She laughs with a roll of her eyes. "But, be sure not to let my impeccable care make you complacent. Whether you accept it yet or not, both your girl and your happiness are waiting for you to decide she is worth whatever it may take."

I only roll my eyes as I scoff and rise from the ground; shielding myself from the small ray of hope I find in her words.

"I saw that small smile Garrett." She calls from behind me as I dust off my trousers.

"You saw nothing of the sort," I reply as I turn and I reach out and offer her my hand.

"I'm sure," she claims with a knowing grin, as she takes my hand and I pull her to her feet. "Harsin my boy, there is hope for you yet."

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We walk back towards Charles' home hand in hand.

"If Charles is to ask any specific question Elisabeth, you must answer him. We cannot risk his gift when it comes to this situation, and given the circumstances you are the only one who could convince him our arrangement is genuine." Now is as good a time as any to hash out a game plan, best to do so before we enter Charles or McKenna's hearing range.

"You were not planning on explaining our _arrangement_ to him?" She questions.

"No, absolutely not Elisabeth," I protest passionately as I grab her small hands tightly in mine. "No one, absolutely no one can know of either our _arrangement _or your ability. Do you understand?" I demand.

She shies back from my, I suppose rather unexpected, protest and appears hesitant, almost wary.

"I need you to hear me now Elisabeth. You have promised me your loyalty, promised me you will not doubt me and I need to know you will keep your word. Charles and McKenna are my acquaintances; you could even call them my friends. Charles is a good man who has proven himself many times in my eyes, but still he cannot be trusted. No one can be trusted."

"I…I don't understand…where did this come from?" She asks warily.

"There are a great many things you have yet to learn about this life, my dear. I had every intention of sheltering you from the unpleasant, but you deserve more than to be guarded in that way. You will be much safer informed than ignorant. I am so sorry for the both of us that I had not realized this sooner." I tell her in sincerity, hoping she will see the apologies in my eyes I cannot admit aloud.

"I trust you implicitly Garrett." She announces with faith that momentarily overwhelms me. You shouldn't, I cannot help but think to myself as the guilt returns full force. No, no everything I am doing, in honesty or otherwise is only for her. How do I explain the dangers to her without scaring her completely?

"We are fickle by nature Elisabeth. While we try, some more than others of course, to maintain the ghosts of the humanity we once held, we are in essence nothing more than instinctual animals. And as these instinctual animals there will always be the intrinsic draw to the strong, draw to prey upon the weak. You must never, ever show your weaknesses."

"_My weaknesses,"_ She hisses with disgust jumping back from me. "What weaknesses? Not only am I still stronger than you, I have excelled in your combat training and I also possess an ability!"

"And your ability is a weakness!" I shout back to her matching her rage before I take a breath to try to control myself. "This is in no way a personal attack Elisabeth; be sensible! The only concern I have is for your safety."

"Forgive me, Garrett," she pleads quietly dropping her head to her hands. For a moment, I almost expect her to cry. "I don't know what came over me. I cannot seem to gain control of my temper when I feel I am being labeled as weak. I… I don't understand it."

Oh boy, I do. Where would you like to start dear, the fact that the useless monkey you still love chose to leave you based on you weaknesses? Maybe then we can move on the family that had abandoned you when they tired of your fragility?

"I am sorry as well, I did not mean for you to assume I was calling you weak." I apologize. But she must understand the severity of the warning I am trying to offer. "I assure you I do not for one moment believe you fragile. But, we all have weaknesses. Your ability could be considered a weakness as it makes you exceptional, it attracts attention. As we had discussed, it makes you more attractive to those with impure motivations. Do you understand why we would have to keep that guarded?"

"I do," she replies "but, Charles obviously knows about it."

"And that is unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do about that now. His big mouth will also do us a great service so it is a sacrifice I would gladly make. Your boy, however Elisabeth, is another very precarious weakness."

"My boy?" She questions, "How could he be a weakness if I do not even know his name?"

"He could be used against you easily under the right circumstances. His identity could be bartered or, worse still, his safety could be held ransom if the right people had wanted something badly enough from you, such as the use of your gift. We cannot involve anyone in the search for him. His existence, even only in your mind must be very carefully guarded, both for your sake and his. Do you understand now what I am trying to warn you of?" I question severely.

"I do Garrett, but wouldn't having a mate be just as dangerous a weakness?" She questions.

"In some ways, you are correct Elisabeth having a mate is a weakness. But, as I had mentioned before it can also be a benefit. As a mated pair, we are more a formidable opposition. The bond between mates is unending, unbreakable, all encompassing. The devotion and loyalty between them is never questioned. By it simply being known you are mated to a strong partner gives us certain assurances, assurances we will use to our full advantage."

"I have but one more question for you Garrett," she begins hesitantly. "I… what are… why do you think…" she trails off as she wrings her hands together in an incredibly human reaction to her stress.

I reach out and hold her small hands in mine again. I catch her eyes and give her a reassuring smile.

"Anything Elisabeth, you can ask me anything." I encourage.

Ask me anything as long as you don't ask about the boy, because then I would be royally screwed. Please, please don't ask about him, anything but him.

"What are we, what is this?" She finally manages to choke out. "You tell me we are in this together, but in the same breath you tell me that only mates have that strong a bond and no one but your mate can be trusted. So if we are not mates, what are we? How could we have a strong enough bond?"

How the hell am I supposed to answer that? Well my dear, I have absolutely no idea? You remind me too much of the sister I buried two hundred and fifty years ago?

"I don't know Elisabeth and that is the most truthful answer I can give you. I honestly have no idea. I know you are certainly not my mate. As you had so cleverly deduced earlier, my heart, just as yours has been given away for quite some time." I joke in an attempt to lighten this conversation. She meets my eyes but I can still read the fear, the uncertainty in hers. Hell, I am far from a bare your heart sort.

"I have been alone for a very long time, my dear. I have had friends, I have had lovers and I do have a woman that owns me heart and soul, whether she knows it or not. But you, you are… you are simply mine and I cannot think of another way to explain it but that. You return to me so much of the man I once was, you make me laugh, and you keep me grounded. You see me as I am, not as the notorious troublemaker, not as the warrior, not as all of the defenses I have created and you have helped me see myself. Does that make sense?"

"It does. And I suppose I could claim the same of you." She admits with a shy smile. "The boy has my heart irrevocably and eternally but just as he is mine you are in a way as well. But is that enough, enough to keep our little coven strong, keep us together?"

"My dearest," I begin, bringing our intertwined hands to my lips and placing a chaste kiss to the back, "I am surely the most fiercely loyal you are ever to encounter and you are definitely the most stubborn and strong willed of all I have ever known. If any could make this work it would have to be us." I finish with a laugh.

"True enough," she concedes with a laugh of her own. "Come, let us go lie to the nosy polygraph" She adds pulling me forward and dropping my hand. "I'll race you and even consent to giving you a head start this time." She calls to me from a crouched and ready position.

"There is certainly no need for that." I scoff, mirroring her position on our imaginary starting line. My pride would never allow me to accept her generous offer. Truth is I could use it; she remains the fastest I have ever seen. While my pride may be injured with the loss I am sure to earn it is more than worth a hundred races left in her dust to see the smile that has been missing from her face for far too long.

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Our conversation of trust ended up being rather pointless. As we descended on the house I announced Elisabeth had accepted my proposal, which was true enough to appease Charles. With quite a few congratulations and jokes at my expense, Charles and McKenna made a spectacle of leaving their British abode to the newlyweds. After embarrassing us both immensely by promising his wrath if they returned to find we had rendered it to rubble in our own private _celebrations_, they departed to travels of their own pausing only to hurl uncooked grains of rice over their shoulders with a force to render it permanently lodged in the side of their cottage.

Several hours after Charles and McKenna's grand departure, I take Elisabeth on a walk to explore our new surroundings a little more thoroughly.

"So, now that I have established a talent identical to Charles', am I to expect an eternity of you lying constantly to drive me mad for your own childish amusement?" She teases with a smile, linking her arm through mine as we lazily wander through the acres of their property.

"Oh, of course not, my dear," I reply dramatically. "I would never dream of it."

She stuns me as she pulls me to sudden halt and uses her tightening grip on my arm to turn me so we face each other. "You are truthful?" She asks, astonished.

"Not really." I confess, as I look to her questioningly.

"I couldn't tell." She admits with increasing panic. "What does it mean?" She adds in alarm.

The truth is that I am momentarily stunned by her admission and search through my memories of the last two weeks as I try to recall anything Charles may have said that would explain this development.

"Charles had said your gift would be much weaker when he was no longer in proximity." I begin to reassure her as I pull her into a platonic hug rubbing her back. Since the day I had changed her, she has always been comforted by that small gesture. "He had also mentioned some take years before they are able to use their talents at will. Perhaps, with your ability no longer being enhanced by Charles, it is not yet strong enough to be noticeable on its own accord? That would make perfect sense considering you had showed no inclination of a gift before we had met Charles."

"Of course, well, I suppose that does make quite a bit of sense. Still, it remains unnerving to not know when it will sneak up on me again." She admits, as some of the apprehension drains from her face.

"Try not to worry," I encourage, although I know my request is in vain. "It will work out and I'm sure your ability will return as you grow stronger." I drop my arm from around her waist and pull her hand into mine. "Let us forget all of these troubles and have a bit of fun on 'our honeymoon.'" I suggest with a wicked glint in my eye.

"What could you possibly have in mind?" She wonders aloud, the trepidation on her face serving to increase my grin.

"Elisabeth, have you ever seen Big Ben?" I question with a fabricated innocence.

"Garrett, I cannot for the life of me imagine how it is you have not been discovered in more than two hundred years." She announces with a chuckle I cannot help match.

"Well, that my dear," I begin with a huge grin, "is precisely why I believe in miracles."

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The years passed quickly in the UK.

We spent the first few using Charles and McKenna's cottage as a home camp of sorts. Although I had encouraged her and praised her restraint continually, she refused to be among humans for any reason but hunting until she had finally convinced herself she would not unwittingly leave a trail of bodies in her wake. I had eased her conscience by teaching her the finer points of choosing prey unfit to live amongst society. We would go far to hunt to ease suspicion; one would hope our tremendous efforts would have led to the decline of crime in Europe as a whole.

She quickly adopted respectable British and Scottish accents, although I continued to refuse even the charade of an Englishman. I'll be damned before I betray my brothers with a single Cheerio! We spent the night beneath the River Thames in Charles' honor. We watched the sunrise from atop my old friend Big Ben; after I had shown her the proper cable—for future reference—if she were ever so inclined.

We fulfilled our official American tourist obligation and attended the changing of the guard; where I had to restrain her from ghosting over to remove his big stupid hat and cracking his countenance. We went to the Tower of London, during business hours much to my chagrin, where she marveled at the Lady Jane graffiti yet declared the Crown Jewels ostentatious and offensive. I had also been threatened with severe bodily harm if she were to find so much as one precious raven suspiciously missing in our wake; how well she has always known me.

I had successfully dodged more than a year of her begging and never did don the Kilt she had so generously purchased so I would 'blend in' in Scotland. In turn, she managed to restrain me from participating in the Highland Games. As she so wisely pointed out, a pale kilt-less American tossing a caber in excess of a mile would not exactly mesh with our under the radar intentions. I did manage to procure a lovely set of bagpipes, which she instantaneously banned me from ever attempting to play again—in addition to any other possible musical instrument. Apparently, butchering Scotland the Brave to the extent I had in only a few bars is practically a criminal offense. We scared sheep racing through farmlands. And enjoyed every rainy day afforded us.

We raced across the channel and I conceded her victory in a less than gentlemanly fashion.

France brought us the tower, of course, where I was able to finally claim a victory in our race to the top. She conceded my win with a grace that had surprised me. We spent several overcast days in the Louvre where she spent several hours in silent marvel with the pieces while I spent several hours in silent grumbling about her refusal to see the practicality in sneaking in after hours. She did, however, condone my independent journey through the museum's underworld to confirm, much to my dismay, that Dan Brown merely had a vivid imagination and the Holy Grail was nowhere to be found. She continued to indulge me with an extended stay in Normandy, though my whining about the French sun preventing me from performing my patriotic duty all those years ago drove her nearly mad. Her casual dismissal of my technically being dead for more than a century and a half by then more than justifiably excusing me from service fueled my temper. We fought until the tension was eased by a rather amusing discussion on how exactly I would manage slipping into an American camp and fighting alongside my brothers in the deserts of Afghanistan.

We met up with an old acquaintance of mine in Saint-Florent-le-Vieil. Elisabeth had spent many days enraptured with not only Jacque but mastering French in hours through the vast collection of poems, novels and plays Jacque had published under the name Julien Gracq; a rather clever anagram of her given name. While they discussed the recent passing of Jacque's human friend and front for her publishing, plans for her future works, and complaints of having to start over as a new writer all well being continuously compared to…well…herself, I managed a quick solo trip to Alaska.

For practical reasons—as I told myself—I needed to be sure there was no news of Cullen or other gossip of Elisabeth. Katie was the obvious choice, nothing more than a mission for intel of course; nothing personal about it, I had only needed a reliable source for the information. Katie was always reliable. Nope, no personal motivations at all…I was simply fulfilling my duties in keeping Elisabeth safe.

The decades slipped through our fingers like sand as the miles faded beneath our feet. Her ability never resurfaced. As much as this troubled her, I silently rejoiced. Not only was it much safer for her to be merely average for the time being, but the longer her ability took to fully manifest on its own the longer I had the luxury of escaping any conversation of the scoundrel. Luckily for the both of us, none of her memories fully resurfaced. The French countryside brought to her flowers, green grass, and love; but nothing else. A group of young children brought her a name—Alice—and an increased hope, which only served to make me more apprehensive. The sun catching us off guard in Spain brought her a glimpse of her human hand intertwined with another glittering palm. And for some inexplicable reason, the red BMW convertible I had purchased for her to race down the autobahn had her hesitant and almost fearful; a quick exchange for white and we found her penchant for speed was not limited to running.

Although she tried desperately to hide from me the depth of her yearning for the boy she did not know, it was pitifully obvious she continued to be consumed by thoughts of him. These random memories, while luckily vague, only served to increase her drive to find him. I could always tell the days she spent lost in her mind, fighting for her memories. It is hard to decide which was harder to bear, the guilt of knowing I could so easily give her all she was searching for, or the knowledge of what would become of her if I did. So the days she spent in silent longing, I would spend in guilt ridden purgatory. At least my confession of my unrequited love for Katie served me well, for she had believed my companionable silence nothing more than mourning my own lost love, not drowning in my crimes against her. I would usually break first, and attempt everything I could dream up to return the smile to her face. Whether she was genuinely in need of the distraction or merely humoring me, I am unsure. Although, knowing her as I do, I can guess. Yet the smile would return, we would move on and enjoy the beauty of the world around us until her ghosts came to claim her again.

We avoided Italy in its entirety, by wide margin.

Norway brought us Oslo and Beate, resident Nordic muse. Our grand and guided tour of Scandinavia was highlighted with a midnight exploration of the Vigeland Park. Many of his female forms were inspired by Beate herself—a fact she had never been slow to admit. Yet, we were both stuck by the intimacy of her admission of the park babies being hers, gifts from Vigeland for his appreciation of her inspiration. As he had told her those many years ago, she had given him that which he would have never otherwise attained and in his gratitude he returned the favor. I managed to cut short that particular excursion, no need to give her yet another possible reason to hate me for what I had done to her.

Scandinavia led to Estonia, which led to Latvia. Latvia led to Russia. And Russia led to not only the shock of several lifetimes but a complication neither of us would have ever expected.

I had been anticipating introducing Elisabeth to Dar, although I had believed we would not encounter her before St. Petersburg. A relatively young vampire and very powerful telekinetic, she has remained one of the most loyal of my many acquaintances. I had dubbed her Dar (both modern Russian for 'gift'—as she has always reveled in the gift of her immortality as it had afforded her the luxury of her vengeance—and an abbreviation of Daughter of Russia) in place of her actual name, which she had refused to ever admit to anyone along with her human history. Given her reaction to so much as the words Rasputin or communism, her fierce loyalties to mother Russia, and her boastful counts of enemy soldiers left in her wake, I have always suspected Romanov resides somewhere in the elusive moniker she keeps so carefully guarded. Her loyalty is matched only by her vicious temper; one thankfully I have yet to be on the receiving end of. A true solider at heart, we had always maintained an easy camaraderie. In the event I should ever need someone to fight beside Dar remains my first choice.

She had met us close to the Latvian border. Her quick and easy smile, youthful full face, and anticipatory demeanor kept hidden her more enviable capabilities. She had heard I was back in Europe with mate in tow and had been waiting for us since we had left Estonia; desperate to meet the girl that had tamed her wild friend and full well knowing I would never pass up an opportunity to see her.

"моя дорогая девочка, Вы были хорошо? Мать - Россия хорошо? Это было слишком длинно, я был без ее гостеприимства." I manage to get out when she had finally finished her spinning hug and placed me back on my feet.

_My dear girl, have you been well? Has mother Russia been well? It has been far too long since I have indulged in her hospitality._

"Мать Россия - хорошо, спасибо. Я - больше чем хорошо. Приедьте позволяют нам переключаться на Английский, таким образом мы действительно оскорбляем вашу beatuiful жену. Не делайте в течение одного момента, полагают, что Вы избежите разделения каждых деталей вашей новой любви, я уже оскорблен, я не получал приглашение на вашу свадьбу." She responds with sad look.

_Mother Russia is well, thank you. I have been more than well. Come; let us switch to English before we offend your beautiful wife. Do not believe for one instant you will not be sharing every detail of your new love. I am already offended I did not receive an invitation to your wedding._

I chuckle at her frowning pout. "You should know better than most, I am far from the sort to entertain a human custom such as a wedding. Yet, I assure you my dear, if there was to be a wedding you most certainly top the guest list."

"I better," she replies matching my chuckle. "Come Garrett," she orders dragging me by the hand, Elisabeth dragged along in the other. "There is obviously much for us to discuss," she states firmly, smiling at Elisabeth.

We followed her through the forest while I formally introduce the ladies and tell her the carefully constructed version of my meeting and courtship of Elisabeth. I pause only long enough to keep stealing glimpses at Elisabeth as we run. She has seemed oddly out of sorts since meeting Dar and my concern is only compounded when I realize she is almost lagging behind us. She normally maintains one of only two speeds, beside me or so far ahead I can barely make out her figure.

She looks almost sullen and it seems to be increasing as we spend more time with Dar. Could she not find Dar's company agreeable? That would be very unfortunate as Dar is a good friend and very crucial ally. I was hoping for the chance to catch up for a while and have her guide our trip through her mother land. Could she be…could she possibly be jealous? No, that is ridiculous. How could she possibly be jealous of Dar? She has no problems knowing my heart is owned by another, and even continually encourages me to formally court her. I manage to catch her eyes and raise my eyebrow when Dar pulls ahead. She only responds with a tight forced smile and a shake of her head. Thank you Elizabeth, very informative.

Women…

"So Garrett, Elisabeth, I have news of my own to share." Dar announces as we come closer to Moscow.

"Has hell finally frozen over and you have chosen a mate from your long list of admirers?" I question with feigned shock.

She responds with a deep laugh that echoes from the trees. "Hardly," she snorts. "You will sooner join the service of the Queen before I concede one ounce of my independence to a man's ownership."

"You know dear, men today do not behave the same way they did almost a century ago." I tell her in sincerity; I have always believed a mate would help to soften the blow of her notorious temper.

"Ah, irrelevant," she declares with a swat of her hand. "I'll tell you what Cupid, you find me a strikingly handsome, hundred year old, Whites loyalist*, capable of fighting beside me and bearing my temper and I'll buy the white dress and meet you at the cathedral." She replies with another generous laugh.

_(A/N * the Russian Civil war was composed of the "Reds" the Bolshevik supporters and the "Whites" those loyal to the Tsar)_

"As I was saying, before you had so rudely interrupted," she begins with a pointed glace at me that made me laugh again, "I have my own coven."

"You…a coven, surely you jest?" I stumble through my surprise.

"You…mated, surely _you _jest?" She replies scathingly.

"Touché, dear, forgive me, I had just never suspected you the coven sort." I respond.

"Well, it is a rather peculiar arrangement. Her name is Deepa, she is Indian by birth. And, I assure you my friend, if you have not yet seen someone of that coloring changed then you will be floored by the beauty. She is much older than I, yet she had the great misfortune of being turned by someone rather _possessive._ He had kept her coddled. While she had once seen that as luxury, she now knows he was simply trying to keep her from what she could achieve and, thus, bound to his coven. When she finally tired of his antics, she managed an escape. I met her during her run from him. I provide the security she seeks while she provides a rather enthralling _service_ for me. She has a sharp and scathing wit. I believe you will both like her very much."

"An ability?" I question, "Well, what can she do? And how is our dear friend Amun?" I spare another glance at Elisabeth who appears to be struggling as much as before. She almost looks ill, as if such a thing were possible. She has until we reach Dar's home in Moscow and if she does not appear better by then I am dragging her off until I can get it out of her. I find that I am oddly hurt by her behavior. Since when do we keep secrets? Okay, well since when does _she _keep secrets? I raise my eyebrow at her again and she only offers another shake of her head in response.

Dar's laughter rings out again. "You are certainly a quick one Garrett. I have missed you. Amun is much the same I suppose. He continues to turn others at random and keeps those with talent as his own personal guard, the self-important fool. I only hope I am close enough to attend his burning when Aro decides to put an end to his quest for world domination." She continues with her sarcasm enhanced with an eye roll.

"As for her talent, patience Garrett," She calls in a singing voice. "I want that to be a surprise."

She certainly gets her wish in spades.

We came upon her home on the fringes of Moscow in the early morning hours. A young looking girl with long curly black hair stood up in greeting. Dar had been right; her skin appeared a very light tan compared to our stark white and combined with her burgundy eyes the effect was enchanting.

"Come dear and meet my friends." Dar called to the girl on the doorstep.

"Garrett, this is my good friend Deepa. Deepa, my comrade Garrett and his mate Elisabeth." She introduced us and I reached for her hand and bent to place a kiss to the back.

"Deepa has a very unusual talent, Garrett. She is able to pull memories from your mind and not just memories of this incarnation but your human life as well." Dar announces as proud as a peacock while Deepa looks abashed by the attention.

"It takes a while to gain access to the human memories." She admits meeting my stunned gaze with a small smile. "But given the proper time I can not only view but fully restore every memory you had created while human. I can grant you every single thing that was stolen from your mind from the change."

"That is amazing." I admit my mind swirling with chaos at what this could possibly mean for Elisabeth. This is bad. This is very, very bad. How can I get out of this? How can I prevent Elisabeth from asking for her memories? How could I prevent this stranger from granting them? Damn! A new complication at every turn, I fight the instinct to raise my hands to my temples and turn my attention to the girl.

"How?" I demand rather shortly. There must be a way to prevent this from happening.

"How do any of us develop our talents?" she retorts angrily, responding to my rudeness. "I just focus on your eyes and it…" She cuts off abruptly suddenly focused behind me. I curiously study her unexpectedly somber expression. "Garrett, is she alright?" She questions in a nervous whisper.

I turn quickly to see Elisabeth bent over with her hands on her knees as she shakes uncontrollably. I flash to her side and drop to my knees in front of her holding her face steady in my hands. I use my hold on her to force her eyes to meet mine.

"Elisabeth, what is it? What is happening? Is it red again?" I ask quietly, knowing she will understand and I can't risk alerting our hosts of her ability.

She holds my gaze yet remains silent as the shaking intensifies.

"Elisabeth!" I scream to her although I am inches from her face. "Please, please, what is happening?"

"Are you doing this?" I call behind me, unwilling to take my eyes off of her for a moment.

I hear Dar's angry huff from somewhere behind me. "Garrett, certainly you know better than to think I would ever or ever permit anyone to harm your mate…"

I am pulled from the beginnings of Dar's temper tantrum when Elisabeth brings her hands to my face with such force the crash echoes from the trees. She grips me tightly and my head is shaking as violently as her hands. I am panicking completely, but while she appears to be falling apart her gaze remains strong and steady to my eyes.

My mind is racing with possibilities and I can do nothing but scream her name until I feel the ground shift beneath my feet. I attempt to look down but her tight grasp of my face prevents me from moving away from her probing eyes. I flinch violently and grasp more tightly to her as my mind fills with an image of Katie standing by the gates of the Denali home with a small smile on her face while she bids me farewell.

"What the…" I manage to struggle out until I am cut short by Elisabeth speaking at last.

"Her skin…" she whispers reverently, "so beautiful in the moonlight, just tell her! Tell her you idiot, tell her you love her. Run your fingers down her cheek and tell her you live every day for her. Tell her! She would not look at you this way if she did not feel the same. No, no, not worth it, you will lose her, lose her forever. This is enough, this has to be enough."

I cannot suppress the gasp that rushes out as I realize these are the things I had been thinking as I worshipped Katie from afar.

I feel the ground disappear from beneath me as Dar and Deepa continue to scream things I cannot discern at the both of us from behind me. I attempt to call out to them and am cut off again as the image in my mind shifts. I hold a still human Elisabeth in my arms and lean down slowly into her warm and pulsating skin. My throat is immediately engulfed in flames responding to this memory.

This time she calls out sternly, "Be careful! Be careful! Friend not food, not too much, can't take too much! Pull away, pull yourself away now! I hope this is right, I hope she forgives me. God forgive me."

The screams increase from behind me. I manage to turn against Elisabeth's hold long enough to catch a glimpse in my periphery of an obviously terrified and shrieking Deepa several feet from Elisabeth and I, suspended several feet from the ground as we are.

Elisabeth's hands regain their hold and force all of my attention to her. The shaking intensifies as she groans loudly as a new image is pulled forth in my mind. It is so loud, it is so loud and there is smoke and I can barely breathe. And there is blood, so much blood. It is everywhere, on my hands and staining the jacket I am pulling from my body. I feel the rough fabric against my fingers as I try to pull strips off of the sleeves.

"Help me!" Elisabeth screams suddenly. "Oh god, someone help me! He's hit, he's been hit." She continues with the same desperate fervor.

I can see things flying past us through my peripheral vision. Deepa's screaming overpowered by Dar's violent Russian profanities.

"No! No! You will not die! I will not let you die." Elisabeth pleads with me, choking on her sobs just as I had the first time I had seen the vacant look creeping into his eyes. I see my hands trying desperately to staunch the blood as Elisabeth continues in a whisper reciting the internal monologue of my thoughts from this memory. "So much blood, too much blood. Where else is he hit? I can't stop it. I can't find them all. I can't let him die. I have to stop it, stop the bleeding, and keep calling for help. I can do this, I can't let him die."

I feel the strangest sensation of being violently pulled; as if someone had me by the hands, by the feet, practically ripping me in half in a merciless tug of war. I hear Deepa's screaming intensify behind me and know she is experiencing the same pain. The objects in my periphery, which I can now distinguish as small boulders, tree limbs, even small animals remain suspended as well.

"No!" Elisabeth suddenly screams again, back to the desperate pleading tone. "Joseph, you will not die! Do you hear me! Think of Beth, think of Beth waiting for you to come home to her. You can't leave her! Don't leave her Joseph!"

I hear Dar's strangled grunting below us as the pull back to the earth becomes stronger. I use every bit of the little control I have on myself to pull back from the memories and focus on the words they continue to scream.

"Close your eyes! Oh God, Garrett close your eyes!" Deepa screeches from behind me. I allow my lids to snap shut and Elisabeth goes instantly limp. Instantly, I reach to grab her in my arms to shield her an eighth of a second before we hit the earth with a resounding crash. Immediately, I roll to a seated position and pull a still limp Elisabeth into my lap. I look her up and down quickly in my panic. Satisfied there is not a mark on her, I reach down to smooth the hair from her face and finally begin to relax as I see her eyelids beginning to flutter.

"Go! Go straight to St. Petersburg, do not stop, and speak to no one!" Dar quickly begs Deepa with a waver in her voice. "I'll be right behind you. Please just go." I can see the trepidation flash across her face and her reluctance to leave her friend in danger. Dar must make the same assessment I have as she calls out, "You will only cause more harm being close by when she wakes, please go."

Deepa looks resigned as she reaches for Dar's shoulder and whispers, "Be safe my friend," before nodding and running into the woods.

I turn my attention back to Elisabeth careful to avoid looking in her eyes as they finally open and she seems startled to find herself cradled in my lap on the ground. Confusion follows; her brow furrowing as she tries to make sense of the insanity we just endured. She takes a breath to speak but is interrupted.

"What the hell was that?" Dar breaks the tense silence.

"I…I don't know. I had been feeling so strangely, like with Charles and I thought it was coming back. So I had been trying to do as he had taught me to control myself." Elisabeth directs at me in a whisper.

"Are you alright?" I whisper back at her. She responds with a small nod as I continue to comfort her in any way I possibly can.

"This has happened before?" Dar spits at us both, equal parts shock and horror written all over her face. "And you had not thought to warn me Garrett?" she continues with disgust as she jumps to her feet with a growl.

"Of course not," I bark back. "Now sit and control yourself and I will tell you all I know," I order her. And much to my great surprise, she hesitantly follows my direction with no more complaint than a scoff. I suppose it must be obvious how close I am to snapping completely. While I hate the idea of sharing any of our carefully guarded secrets, of all that I know Dar is the one I would be least hesitant to trust. Considering what we have all endured, I really have no choice but to explain as best I can.

I continue to rock Elisabeth in my lap as I rub small circles on her back in an attempt calm her as I relate every detail of our interaction with Charles, her original ability, how it had suddenly ebbed, and my concern of her behavior since we had met Dar. She remains surprisingly quiet through the entirety responding only with the occasional raise of her eyebrow or purse of her lips.

"So what do you think?" I ask her as I finish the tale. Elisabeth raises her face from my shoulder in anticipation of her answer.

"Well Garrett, Elisabeth," she begins with a very hesitant glance at Elisabeth before rising to her feet and brushing the debris from her clothing. "I think what you probably already know." She responds with a small almost sad smile.

"She was able to use both our gifts concurrently. But it would appear the combination was too powerful for her to control." She pauses for a moment to lean down to Elisabeth and brush a piece of her hair behind her ear in an oddly nurturing gesture. "It took every ounce of my strength and my control to fight against what she was doing subconsciously. Deepa was powerless to stop her from pulling your memories. And, while I have seen her react to the memories she finds, I have never seen her drawn into one the way Elisabeth was." She admits with a small shake of her head as she pulls her hands back into her lap.

"You are going to need guidance. Very strong, very informed guidance from someone knowledgeable of this sort of thing because she is obviously incredibly powerful, even dangerous, and if she cannot gain control of it…"

"If I cannot gain control of it?" Elisabeth whispers back into my shoulder.

"Well, then you two are incredibly fucked." She responds with a light chuckle that earns a scoff from me and a roll of my eyes.

"I wish you both the very best of luck." She says with a kiss to each of our foreheads. "I'll do what I can from a distance and send word if I find anything at all but I believe my presence would cause you much more harm than good. You need to find someone, anyone, who may know of an ability similar to this and you need to do it very quickly, before you are put in even more perilous circumstances. And for the love of all things holy, you need to avoid anyone with a talent until you find what you are looking for." She warns as she turns to the trees to follow Deepa to St. Petersburg.

"Be well, my friend." I call to her in her mother tongue before she reaches the edge of the foliage.

"May god be with you both." She replies in a jaded whisper as she disappears.

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I pace through the clearing rubbing my temples and try to create a plan. Who would know? The Italians, of course, but that is completely out of the question. I can't have her within 100 miles of the country. Not only would Aro steal her in a second but being exposed to the combined abilities of the guard could do some serious damage to Elizabeth. Not to mention the minor detail of my permanent expulsion from the city limits. I wouldn't be of much use to her as a pile of ashes. No, Italy is definitely unacceptable.

Elthezar would know. His talent would be incredibly useful to us. He spent enough time on that specific detail within the guard. I am almost positive he would have the information to help us. But……Katie, and not just Katie, but Katie, Irina and Tanya? One of them would be enough to overwhelm Elizabeth, but the three of them together? Lord knows what that would do to her. Or more accurately, lord only knows what that would do to Carmen, Elthezar, and I. And that would open up a whole can of worms with Elizabeth. Not only when she saw their eyes but when she learned of the animals; that would be my skin for sure. And most importantly, they are all too close to Cullen. It would take no more than one mention of the boy by Elizabeth to any of them and the whole thing would fall apart. That is exactly what I would need; an uncontrollable, infuriated newborn pumped up on three succubus' worth of seduction prowess.

Not to mention having Elisabeth anywhere near Katie is a very, very bad idea…for me at least. I would lose her for sure if she had believed I had chosen Elisabeth as a mate. I have no doubt she'll hear the rumors but rumors at my expense are nothing new. As long as I do nothing to confirm it, I should be able to keep Elisabeth from Katie. So Alaska is out, definitely out. No, we need to be far, far from Alaska.

I push my fingers against my temples with more force and pause my pacing long enough to glance over at Elisabeth. She is sitting against the boulder, arms wrapped around her knees, and actually quiet for once. While under normal circumstances I would revel in the peace of her keeping her mouth closed for more than the time it takes her to breathe, her position is too reminiscent of her last human days. I need to help her; I need to figure this out. Damn it Harsin! You did this to her, you did this! How are you going to fix it?

I resume my pacing with more determination. Cullen is brilliant, but obviously impossible. Charles is useless and far too much a risk. Carrie has always been an academic, but last I had heard of her she was in Panama and had found a mate. I have no knowledge of where she could possibly be now and an extended journey to find her could be incredibly dangerous. Alistair is ancient. Although he has always struck me as a rather dim bulb, he has been around an incredibly long time. But he is one strange fellow, too shifty, too nervous. How could I ever convince him to help us? Can I trust him? No, probably not. Who knows what would set him off and send him running back to the Italians? Maybe I don't have to bring Elisabeth. Maybe I can convince him to grant me access to his library. I have been there before and I'm sure I can find something to help her. That's it! His library! He has plenty of ancient texts, a whole series from the Dacian rule I'm sure…

I freeze and slap my palms to my forehead. The Dacain rule. The trinity.

They would know. And, in this particular instance, I trust them completely.

"Garrett, what is the trinity?" She calls from her place on the damp earth as I had apparently been mumbling my thoughts aloud.

"Who is the trinity, Elisabeth, not what. Grab your pack and I'll explain on the way." I call over to her as I grab my own pack and try to remember the proper channels to send word. I hardly want to show up, Elisabeth in tow, unannounced. No need to start off on the wrong foot.

"Garrett, where are we going?" She asks as she flashes to my side, her pack in place.

"We, my dear," I reply as I offer her my arm, "are off to find the help we need. We're going to Romania."

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Hmmmmm…. Who is the trinity? Any guesses? Oh and a nice virtual cookie if you can find the Disney movie reference. It's one of my son's favorites and I couldn't help myself.

So, big sigh of relief, Garrett and Bella are totally platonic. Any questions that remain will be fully answered in the next chapter, I promise.

Now, you may be wondering why this immense chapter is in GPOV. As I have mentioned before, when Garrett starts, he .. At all. Also, while my version of the Volturi isn't as stringent as the cannon set, Bella is not stupid enough to detail her ability in the book. That would open an enormous can of worms and she knows better. So Garrett has to tell this part of the story.

For those who are antsy for the B and E reunion, it is coming. But, we have to get through the rest of Bella's history first. Part of the reasoning of this mega chapter is to get that ball rolling and not put off B and E any more than I have to!

So, any more questions come to the forum!

Send me a review or PM if you have any questions about the multitude of references in here!

Please, please leave a review! I worked my butt off on this one!


	21. AN notes on Unexpected!

_********** THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER OF FOR ETERNITY, it is a detailed explanation of the details, technicalities and plot points of the last chapter as has been requested by a bunch of readers! Feel free to skip this 'chapter' and you will not be missing anything new! Sorry for the alert, I know the A/N alerts drive me crazy, but I wanted to make sure everyone that wanted this gets to see it! ***********_

I've been getting a lot of questions on some of the details and historical references in the last chapter, so rather than typing a bunch of responses, I thought I would do what I should have done to begin with and draw up an extended author's note of explanation.

First, just in case you may have somehow missed it, if you find your name among Garrett's various European buddies, **it is not a coincidence!** MWAH! Thank you for everything Chickies, you know I love you. (I did try hard to give your Vampire representations characteristics or quirks that remind me of you) And if by chance you are someone I know and love thinking 'hey what the Hell, Dena?' I just may have something in mind for you… (but please, feel free to send me a review telling me I suck anyway)

So now that is out of the way, I wanted to address some timeline questions. All of the Cullen, Edward and Bella chapters are current, well 2153 at least. As I have mentioned previously, the E/C/B chapters are running concurrently and while it may seem to span a while considering we are 20 chapters in, things are happening very quickly for them. Edward finding out his soul mate is not really dead, and she wrote him a book, throwing a fit and beating the crap out of his brothers, reading said book and having a complete breakdown and epiphany, and going after the only lead he has to her in the span of one night is a lot. Even for a Vampire. So give him a break, the poor guy is doing everything he can.

The storm chapters chronicle all of Bella's past and the 150 years she spent without the Cullens. Garrett chapters fill in the details you don't see in Storm. As for the timing of Unexpected: The chapter begins at the tail end of Bella's newborn year. By the time Bella and Garrett part company (and that is certainly coming) they will have been together about 75 years. I don't really get into the breakdown because I feel it isn't really that important. I'll fill you in on the specifics if it is relevant, I promise.

Okay, so chronologically through the chapter, here we go:

It kills Garrett that he can't tell her about the boy or the animal blood. As she was wasting away in the cabin (as far as he knew) he finally caved and found her a big old deer and was going to come clean rather than risk 'killing' her. When he found that she had been broken completely by her nature he was consumed with guilt that it hurt her so badly, but he realized she was (eventually) coming to terms with what she is. As he says in the chapter, a lot of vamps struggle in the beginning with what they have become and what they have to do to survive. Most try a hunger strike and when they fail they can finally accept the lives they now live and find their own ways of making peace with it. So basically G sees her whole struggle as her version of this common process and not a testament to her conscience and convection a la the Cullens. But he still feels incredibly guilty for all of it, and it eats him alive.

Charles is a polygraph. As we know from Garrett, Bella has not been around anyone with a talent before Charles. When she tells Charles her crazy tale of meeting Garrett, he senses nothing out of the ordinary. But when Garrett goes to confirm her story (read: lie to Charles) both Bella and Charles sense his lie with a flash of red. (my version of how Charles would know someone is lying) It doesn't take much for Charles to figure out what is going on, having lived it himself.

From Charles lessons we learn that those with identical talents are immune to each other. (Thus why Charles didn't know Bella was lying. And hmmmm, could this little _complication_ affect someone else we know and love…) We also learn that identical talents are enhanced with proximity.

"_I adore you as well, my love," he calls back to her sarcastically but with such a loving smile I must turn away before my eyes betray my heart to mirror Elisabeth's._

This line is used as a small example to show that both B and G are suffering seeing the open love and affection between C and M, as they are both mourning for their own loves that are out of reach.

Moving on,

Bella is surprised that Charles is a Brit because Garrett is still a revolutionary solider through and through. He still holds quite a grudge against the British. So it is a little odd that one of his close friends would be British.

The joke of Charles being a turncoat (or traitor to Britain) is based on the fact that he helped Garrett shut down Big Ben. Why would they do that? Well, like I said, Garrett still holds a grudge, but considering it is more than 200+ years later, there really isn't much he can do for vengeance. He isn't a violent guy (although as he is quick to point out, he can certainly hold his own) and he does have a wicked sense of humor. So him stopping the clock, one of the prides of London, is basically him going all 'damn the man'. It is another example of G's troublemaker persona. And the dates of the Clock being down are historically accurate, just not attributed to a goofy yet vengeful, Revolutionary vampire. I think.

Charles then shares the gossip out of Volterra. I stuck pretty close to the NM version of events, only it is the rest of the Cullens that were able to stop E. He is thrown out of Volterra permanently so they don't have to deal with any more of his theatrics. Remember, E thinks Bella is dead and does blame himself for it, so almost all of what Charles relates is true. Garrett panics during their conversation when Charles makes comments that almost sound as if he knows the truth about Bella. He is obviously worried for a few reasons. One, as I had tried to establish Charles is a good guy, but he is a gossip and a big mouth. G knows if Charles knows the truth about B and her connection to the Cullens, it is only a matter of time before he slips. Also, anyone knowing that much of her history makes him nervous in general. He is constantly concerned not only that someone would come after her (not only the cullens, but someone after her talent) but also on that same note that someone would try to take her away. He doesn't realize yet, that it is a big worry of his. Additionally, he does expect that Carslile will be furious when he finds out that G took B. While he firmly believes that he rescued her, vampires are territorial and he knows that the Cullens had claimed her is some respect. She is theirs whether they left her or not, and he knows that he will be in some pretty big trouble if Carslisle went to the Italians and 'brought charges' against him. Considering the B 'was' a human that knew too much, G thought there was no way C would go to Volterra to complain so when Charles is going on about the Cullens in Italy he is very worried that the Volturi will be after him. Given that the brothers aren't G fans to begin with he knows they are fond of Carslilse it would be a pretty severe punishment.

Then Garrett finally admits to Bella that he has been in love with Kate for quite a while. But, he eats people and she obviously doesn't. She lives in a big coven with her family and he is a nomadic loner. He doesn't think she would ever be happy if she left them and he can't imagine having to be stuck in one place. Also, he believes she only sees him as a crazy goofball and not as the man that loves her. He thinks that she sees him incapable of 'taking care of her,' 'treating her properly' and 'providing for her'. Rather archaic thoughts – but hell, he is pretty damn old, just like his morals. In He is afraid if he tells Kate that he loves her, she'll laugh it off or worse and not even want to be around him anymore. So he continues to keep his mouth shut and just be around her whenever he can. Yeah, he is kind of an idiot in that regard. Part of why I love him though. : ) He may be rather experienced with a lot of things, and he is a smart guy. But, when it comes to personal relationship stuff he is flying completely blind, both a cause and effect of being alone for so long. He doesn't really know how to be the other half of a relationship because his relationship with Bella is really the only true partnership he has ever taken on. B is the perfect companion for him, there is no pressure as he knows he doesn't love her like that and he also knows he can take care of B. And she knows it. In a lot of ways everything G is doing for B, she is doing even more for him.

Bella is able to use Charles' gift during this conversation because they are still close by. She doesn't lose her power until Charles and McKenna are a few hours out of range.

Garrett's comment of betraying his brothers with an English accent is yet another example of his intense clinging to his human identity of a Revolutionary.

The Crown Jewels and Lady Jane graffiti are both in the Tower of London. According to legend, if any of the six ravens that live in the tower leave, the Kingdom will fall. (in actuality they keep 7 nowadays, a spare just in case) So keeping with what we know of Garrett, it isn't a stretch to imagine that he would get quite a kick out of departing the tower tour with a few unwilling feathery little souvenirs.

A caber is like a big freaking log that big strong men throw in the Highland Games in Scotland. I had a friend go to Scotland and actually watch this and she said it was amazing to say the least. Especially amazing when you factor in said big strong men toss big freaking logs while wearing skirts. ; ) (yeah, yeah it's a kilt – I know)

Garrett's independent journey through the underground of the Louvre is a play on Dan Brown's The Divinci Code. The line about Normandy is a reference to D-day in WWII. A bloody yet important battle, G the Revolutionary is still pouty he didn't get to participate with the additional benefit of not being able to be hurt. He knows the obvious advantage of that little talent and still feels some 'battle guilt' over other men (his brothers in arms) dying where he could have fought beside them and protected them.

Julien Gracq was a famous author in France. He wrote countless poems, plays and books yet he remained very reclusive. So much, that he even turned down awards. I needed a French poet that was reclusive enough to fit the bill as a cover for a vampire author and Gracq was perfect. The fact that his name is an anagram for Jacque was just a really fortunate coincidence for me.

Vigeland Park in Oslo, Norway is a beautiful public park that is filled with the sculpture of Vigeland. His pieces focus on the circle of life and are various nudes representing such. The monolith is breathtaking and after researching the park and Vigeland I am dying to go to Norway and see them all first hand.

Dar is based loosely on the legends of Anastasia Romonov. The youngest daughter of the Tsar was supposedly executed along with her family although her remains were not in their communal grave. According to the research I had done she did have a quick temper, sharp wit and fire-y personality. I could easily imagine if she were to escape and become a vampire she would be itching for vengeance along with being fiercely loyal to mother Russia.

Amun is a cannon reference from BD, to the head of the Egyptian coven. He was very possessive of Benjamin and I just exaggerated that to encompass more of his personality.

I took the liberty of bending cannon with the description of Deepa's skin tone. If I remember correctly, according to cannon, darker skin tones appear faded and grey. I decided that if white people get to be pale instead of the grey or blue dead people actually are, then darker skin tones get to be a lighter version also. No reason for the darker skin tones not to be pretty too!

Okay, so Bella's power. She takes on the power of others. Cool, huh? I am officially calling her a magnet. Why? Because I think that would be fantastically ironic considering in the books she was always called a danger magnet, and Irony rocks. : ) And, if you remember cannon – Carlisle explains his theory on abilities, claiming that your strongest characteristics pull through the change.

Given that identical powers are immune to each other, yet enhanced by proximity, B will 'inherit' someone's gift 'on steroids'.

Dar is a telekinetic and Deepa can draw out your memories. Charles' power was hard for her to handle, and when she was faced with Dar's power she had believed her 'light-headedness' was a sign that her 'original ability' was resurfacing. By using techniques for control Charles had taught her she was able to hold the power at bay and not randomly suspend various objects. She had not experienced any 'red flashes' but, she had just assumed everything being spoken was the truth.

The combination of Dar's and Deepa's talents overwhelmed her. She was trying as hard as she could to maintain control still ignorant to what was actually happening. When G freaks out and is trying to figure out what is wrong with her, he makes the mistake of looking into her eyes, which is how Deepa's talent is triggered. Since the gift is enhanced she is pulled completely into Garrett's memories and loses what little control she had over the telekinesis as well. So basically, all hell breaks loose.

So, all that leads them to a pretty good idea of what B's gift really is, but unfortunately being extremely rare, no one really knows what to do with her. She is obviously extremely dangerous as uncontrollable as she currently is. So B and G are off to find someone who may be able to help her, in Romania, in the form of the trinity…

For anyone curious, I have had a few guesses of Anastasia as the Disney Movie reference. To be honest, that one never even occurred to me, so I guess there are two. : )

The one I added intentionally is the line 'Friend not food' from Garrett's memory of the night he changed Bella. It is a line from one of my son's favorite movies: Finding Nemo. In case you haven't seen it, (or memorized it line for line courtesy of an obsessed toddler as I have) the sharks create their own 'AA' group because they don't want to eat fish anymore. The line 'Fish are friends, NOT FOOD!' is part of their 'pledge'. It really is a pretty darn funny movie, and Jack and I highly recommend it for your viewing pleasure.


	22. AN Back at it

So…um…how have you been?

Good? Good.

Two plus years ago life got a little crazy and I stopped writing. I never had the intention to abandon my stories, but as we all know sometimes life has plans other than what we would rather be doing. Believe it or not, this story, the fun I had writing it and the FF community was never far from my mind.

As a reader you gave me your attention, your interest and your feedback and I have always felt that as an author I owe you for that. I owe you a story – the best story I can give you, which obviously is a finished one.

So that's why I'm here. I am here to (finally) finish and give you the story you deserve. As of right this second, I have one chapter in Beta, one almost ready and two more started.

As much as I despise Author's Notes instead of long awaited chapters, I was encouraged to give the reader a chance to reacquaint themselves with the story before jumping into a new chapter. Damn good advice considering two years is a really long time to remember anything. I hope to post the first new chapter early next week. So that should give you a few days to reread the story if you so desire. I'll add a really brief reminder of where we were to the end of this note in case you would rather not go through it all again. I would like to suggest, however, that you re-read Chapter 20 – Unexpected anyway. That chapter is really packed with Bella history and it would be pretty useful to have that in your pocket going into the rest of the story.

As much as I wish otherwise, I can't commit to a posting schedule. In my perfect world I could post once a week until the story is finished, but I don't want to ruin it with unrealistic expectations. 'Here are some cokes and a box of cookies, sit quietly and watch Blue's Clues for a few hours, mama really needs to get through this chapter' probably wouldn't go over to well with the minions. (Well, I'm sure the cokes and cookies would – but definitely not the sitting quietly and not bothering me.) I promise to try my hardest to keep up. And don't worry, I have some amazing women helping me bring this to fruition and I'm sure they would be happy to kick my ass from here to Washington state if I stop writing again.

Finally, there are quite a few of you that have kept me and this story in your thoughts. I have been getting messages from a dedicated few for _more than two years._ I didn't respond to you, mainly because I felt so horribly guilty for leaving you in the lurch, but I read every one of them. I read them and I can't tell you how touched I am that you care enough to keep writing. Thank you for that. Thank you for encouraging me to get back to something I loved. Thank you for reminding me that you were counting on me for an ending and you weren't giving up until you got it. You rock.

Thank you,

Dena

Where we were:

The Cullens:

Alice connected the dots in her visions and they are now pretty sure that Garrett was Bella's maker. Alice's last vision of Garrett was in Port Angeles where he was buying jewelry. Edward, Jasper, Rosalie and Emmett were on the hunt for Garrett and any trace of Bella.

Garrett:

Garrett's last chapter ended with a bang as we learned that Bella's new talent is adopting the talents of others. Bella and Garrett were headed to Romania and the elusive Trinity for help.

Storm:

Our last storm chapter told of Bella's first taste of vampire life. We see some of the darkest days of her life as she truly learns what the demon inside is capable of. *It will be a short while before we see another Strom chapter. Bella doesn't want anyone outside of the Cullens to be able to connect her to the book or for the Volturi to know there is someone out there with her abilities. So she obviously she couldn't mention it in her book.

Bella:

Bella's last chapter covered her reasons for writing the book, mainly that she could say what she needed to say while still keeping her distance. The chapter ends with Garrett and a ring on her doorstep. *The new chapter, the one currently being beta'ed is the next Bella chapter!


	23. Intentions

_Usual disclaimer: Not mine, don't own anything, wish I did. _

_This first new chapter immediately follows chapter 19, Anticipation._

_Please feel free to send me any of your FF or FE appropriate music recs, I have been out of the game for quite a while (duh) and would love to get back in the fold! (and some of my favorite music has come from your recommendations!) _

_A million thanks to the usual crew: Smudge, DazzleMe and Dar - who are better to me than anyone deserves. And a huge thank you to my biggest cheerleader icrodriguez. _

_For you. _

_x_

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I throw my arms around him once more before finally jumping to my feet and practically dragging him through the doorway.

"You must have really missed me." He deadpans as I finally release him on the sofa, although I do not fail to notice the enormous grin still taking residence on his face.

"Everything" I order with a grin to match his as I flop down beside him, "I want to know everything! Spare no detail!" I am so excited I am practically bouncing.

He grabs the small box back from my grasp and before I can pull away he places the beautiful ring on the ring finger of my right hand.

"Thank you so much Garrett, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and you are certainly the most generous…" he intones as I snatch my hand away and admire his gift in the soft light.

"It is beautiful Garrett, but completely unnecessary. You know I was only teasing about the diamonds." I tell him, mildly distracted by the ring sparkling to rival my skin.

"First my dear," he begins with a scoff, "as I am learning from my new sisters, women do not merely tease when it comes to jewelry." Seeing the serious and almost frightful look on his face I can't hold back the laugh imagining what Tanya and Irina could have possibly done to illustrate that point.

"Second, I do remember how you like shiny things," his pointed look has me laughing yet again. "And finally," he announces, switching back to his somber expression, "it is every bit for my sake as well as yours. My mother would surely be turning in her grave to know I had given a young lady my name and no ring on her finger," he finishes with a chuckle of his own. I can't help but reach over to embrace him yet again.

"You are insane, you know that don't you?" I question, my face buried in his shoulder.

"Of course my dear, it is part of my charm." Looking at my friend that can't keep the smile off of his face or the joy from his demeanor I find I am happier than I ever remember.

"Thank you so much Garrett, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and you are certainly the most generous man I have ever met." I parrot as he rolls his eyes. I reach and take his hands in mine. "I love it, and will treasure it always,"

"Well, that is more like it," he laughs his booming exuberant laugh.

"Now, tell me everything!" I demand again. And this time I refuse to be distracted.

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"So I do not know if you have heard, but Katie's sister Tanya had found a mate."

"Tanya? I had thought her the eternal, insatiable bachelorette," I admit freely, a moment before I bite my lip realizing I had just essentially insulted his new family.

"Please don't worry." He laughs with a pat to my hand. "Everyone had believed much the same. So anyway, she had found a boy, practically a newborn on his own just outside of Juneau. Apparently the lightning struck and heavens sang for they have been inseparable ever since."

"And this has what to do with Katie?" I prompt, beyond my allotment of patience with his storytelling.

"I'm getting there, woman! Control yourself!" his grin still unfailing as he throws a pillow at me.

"So, Tanya had decided against a traditional wedding…"

"White is far from her color," I add with a chuckle, ducking behind the pillow I'm holding in the event he decides to launch another in my direction.

"They have not yet created the appropriate color for Tanya," he retorts and as I can't hold back the incredibly unladylike snort that sends him laughing yet again.

"I am never getting through this, am I?" he asks as the laughter abates. I wave my hand as my permission to carry on.

"So I had shown up to this non-event and danced with the non-bride and ribbed the non-groom and all the other various un-wedding essentials. I had decided I had my fulfilled the obligatory celebration and wanted to see Katie just once more before I left. So I followed her scent out to the garage and found her perched on one of the cars. And her head was hung and she just looked so sad, and Bella, it broke my heart." Suddenly solemn and he meets my eyes. "For all of the times I had thought I was heartbroken over this girl, seeing her so unhappy sitting alone in the dark, well it nearly brought me to my knees".

I scoot closer to him on the couch and take his hand in mine.

"So I had walked up behind her and touched her shoulder and asked her what was wrong, and I had thought to myself whatever it was I would fix it. No matter what had happened I would make it better and make my Katie smile again. She kept her head low and just whispered that she was genuinely happy for her sister, but it was so hard to see Tanya happy, Tanya of all people mated and not feel the empty place in her own heart. Her golden hair hid her face from my view and I all but crushed my own fingers in a desperate attempt to keep them rooted to my side. And I was just about to tell her, tell her everything and beg her for just one chance to show her how good I could be to her, when she broke down and told me there already was someone; someone she loved and he didn't love her in return. And I just stood there for a moment while her confession tore me in half, I couldn't breathe and I couldn't see and debated between curling into a ball praying for death and tracking down this man and tearing him into pieces and watching him burn. But what she needed from me was more important than the pain, so I walked up beside the car and stared right into her eyes and told her that she was beautiful and funny and caring and just…the most wonderful woman in the world, and if this cad didn't realize what a treasure she was then he didn't deserve her. Because there was a man out there for her who loved her, who lived for her, who would die for her and she shouldn't settle for anything less than that. That is what she deserved, nothing less than the man that would worship her. And I just stared at her, wishing she would understand. Saying goodbye at the same time, all the while knowing I could never be this close again. I could never be so close to her and have the strength to walk away again."

He turned back to me and met my eyes again. "It killed me to know how much I loved her and she loved someone else, and all I could think in that moment was how many times you had told me to just do it, just tell her. How many times I had blown that chance to prove to her that she was worth anything that would hurt me? It was too late, I was too late. So I had closed my eyes and breathed in her scent and made my feet move to leave her when I felt her small hands on my face. I was afraid to move or breathe or open my eyes to find her saying goodbye as well. So I shut them tighter and held my breath and prayed for some modicum of composure when she leaned into me and I felt her breath on my neck and I nearly came apart, until she whispered 'Garrett, you're a cad, but I love you'. I was frozen completely solid and part of me wondered if I had finally lost my mind because there was no way this was actually happening. She loved someone else, I had lost my chance, and she could never love me. Then she kissed my neck and whispered that she lived for me, and kissed me again and whispered she would die for me…" he fades off with such a dopey grin on his face and his eyes a thousand miles away that I smack him upside the head with the pillow to bring him back to me.

"And…" I practically shout.

"And," he answers with an even bigger and dopier grin, "I decided if I had lost my mind I was certainly going to enjoy it."

"And..." I shout again, my pillow raised for another assault.

"And, in the morning I had to run out and replace Tanya's new un-husband's truck."

"Garrett, you animal!" I tease throwing the pillow in his face.

He grins back, more proud than embarrassed and I laugh with a roll of my eyes. "Hey woman, it was a night two hundred years in the making. I was rather surprised to find the garage still standing and only one truck in need of replacing."

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"Can I offer you anything?" I ask from the kitchen as I set the teapot on.

"That depends," he responds with a wicked grin, "are the neighbors in?"

"Funny," I deadpan, turning back to my pantry. "Having a little trouble with our new diet, are we?"

I open the pantry door and look to my shelf of homemade teas, something sweet, something happy. Not the cinnamon, definitely not the cinnamon, I reach for the lemon tea as he comes up behind me and stares at the contents lain out before us. A quick assessment of all of my various teas and the multitude of boxes of muffin mix sends him into a riot of laughter that has him bent over the butcher's block slamming his palm down.

"Don't split my wood!" I warn, as I grab the canister and turn back to him. "That is an antique!"

"It seems I am not the only one struggling to adhere to my diet," he chokes out through his residual laughter. "Perhaps we had not covered this as well as I had believed my dear, but I have to remind you that you cannot actually eat any of that,"

"The muffins aren't for me smartass," his laughter erupts yet again. "And, considering your _lifestyle _changes, it would do you well to take a few notes."

"Such as, Betty Crocker?" he sputters, still bent over my antique.

"Little human things, like carrying hot beverages to keep your hands occupied and warm them up in case of contact with someone warm blooded, you know, in situations where you plan on leaving them alive long enough to be suspicious." I answer as the teapot whistles. "And so the teacher becomes the student," I bow with a smile before pouring the boiling water over the loose tea.

"That is not why you do that," he mumbles more to himself than me.

"Hmm?" I answer absentmindedly as I enjoy the mild scent of lemons and the heat coming from the mug.

"That really does smell like her," he adds quietly, but the implication is enough to make my head snap to him in shock as the water overflows all over the counter.

"What did you say?" I ask in alarm spinning around to glare at him head on. I know my hearing is perfect, but there must be some mistake, he cannot possibly mean…

"Bella," he mumbles before meeting my panicked eyes, "I think you should sit down."

"Why would I have to sit down, Garrett?" I ask with enough fury to make him cower under my ire.

"Because I have more to discuss with you than my Katie," he answers, hanging his head.

"What did you do?" I shout at him, realizing I am still holding the teapot I slam it down on the countertop forcefully enough to break my granite. "Garrett! What have you done?"

"Nothing!" he snaps back at me. "I have done nothing; now sit before you destroy any more of your kitchen."

I walk over to the not-for-breakfast bar and take a seat in one of the stools never breaking my narrowed glare. He turns from me to wipe down the mess all over my kitchen and it takes every bit of my self control to not jump out of my seat, grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he starts making sense.

"I…I um," he struggles with his words and although I am biting my bottom lip with enough force to take it from my face entirely, my patience ends and panic flares and I can't hold back.

"Christ Garrett, what!" I shout at him. "Tell me now, before I go mad! How? How do you know about my teas? How do you know _her_ scent?"

Still facing the sink, the dishtowel pauses as he tips his head toward the ceiling and sighs. "I have been staying with Katie and her family," he admits quietly before continuing with another sigh. "Last evening they received a phone call."

"Okay?" I snap, still panicking and becoming increasingly annoyed. They received a phone call, how does that become a situation such as this? Why is he so nervous and how could he possibly know what she smells like?

He turns back to face me and I can't help but lean back at the weary, broken look that has overtaken his features, exuberantly joyful only moments before. He takes two hesitant steps and reaches the breakfast bar. He reaches across the granite and holds my hands, rubbing circles with his thumbs. His eyes, filled with pain meet mine for only a moment before he drops his head with another sigh. I pull my hands from his and cup his chin forcing him to meet my eyes again. "Garrett," I whisper, a plea, a warning.

"It was them, Bella," he says carefully as I drop his hands and jump back from the table, shaking my head. He cannot possibly mean…but a letter, I am waiting for the letter, it can't be _them_…

"They found it," he whispers, slowly walking towards me. I let him put his arms around me and bury my face in his chest. "They are looking for you."

My mind is spinning as I sink down to sit on the floor. He drops beside me before pulling me onto his lap and rubbing circles on my back the way that he used to. This is not right. This is not the way this is supposed to happen. I made sure they had no way; I made sure I would not have to face them.

"But...but the letter," I look to him pleadingly. "They are supposed to send me a letter Garrett, and I have been waiting…"

"I know, sweetheart," he mumbles into my hair, continuing comforting me in any manner he can. Why would they try to find me? I have surely proven that by now I am no danger to them. I can't imagine they know of my ability but even if they had they have never been the sort to covet gifts. And they would have to know I would never do anything to hurt them. No, no they can't know of my ability, they would not search me out if they did. They can't, they can't just show up here, not all together, not like this. He lets me sit for a few moments lost in my thoughts before he turns my face to meet his.

"I know what I had promised you Bella but I had to be sure, I had to know that they were where he had said they were. I wanted to be sure they really were trying to find you before I had to tell you this. So I passed through Seattle, I got just close enough to pick up the scents, to prove to myself they had been in that town and I came right here to warn you. I assure you I did not get close enough to any of them for them to sense me, or read me as the case may be." His now golden eyes beg for my understanding.

"What do I do now?" I ask, tucking my head back into his chest. I can't let them get hurt. There has to be some way to prevent them from coming after me this way. I'm not ready. I thought I could handle it but I just can't—not yet.

"I can't answer that for you, I promised you I would never make these choices for you again." he replies quietly. "I will do whatever you need from me Bella, but this is your decision. If you want to leave, we'll leave tonight, as far as we need to go."

"But Kate…"

"Kate will understand. I owe you this at the very least." He pulls my face to meet his. "But, if you want him here, I will lead him here. Just say the words."

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I did everything to prevent this, everything. They are supposed to send the letter. The letter will come and then I can read it and know what they think before I have to face them. I am supposed to draft them a letter in return if they want contact. Tell them of the security measures we would need to face if I was ever to be around them again. I was supposed to have time to prepare for this. I need to know what I am facing first and they are taking that from me. Forcing me to leave my home, forcing me to run away or forcing me into something I know I just cannot handle. Why aren't they following the rules, why are they doing this? Suddenly furious, I jump up and send my mug shattering into the far wall. "Shit! How could they? Don't they understand?"

In a second he is beside me again circling his arms around me. "Bella," he whispers into my hair, "do you think that maybe it is time to end this?"

"End this?" I snap, trying to shrug off his embrace.

He turns me to face him again, his voice rising in annoyance. "How long are you planning on living this way, hmmm? How long do you plan on suffering over this boy, waiting and mooning and wondering, living in the past? I promised you I would never interfere, lord knows I have kept that promise no matter how it killed me to just sit by and watch. I have never once so much as offered my opinion in this mess but enough is enough. He doesn't deserve you, he never has. If he doesn't understand all that has happened, than he is a hypocrite. If he doesn't love you than he is even more stupid than I could have ever imagined. If he doesn't want you, you don't need him, you can move on, live again, and love again." He places his forehead to mine. "Bella, you know it is time. You are ready to end this and live."

"But I…I just don't think I would be able to bear…"

He smiles as he cocks an eyebrow. "As very wise woman once asked me: 'Is he not worth the risk?'"

I close my eyes and lean against him.

"He is."

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_Review?_

_Reviews make me happy. _

_Happy writers work faster ;) _


	24. Traces

_Not mine : ( No Copyright infringement intended. (Obviously)_

_Okay so, a little later than I would have hoped but whatcha gonna do? I was going back and forth between posting this chapter first or posting a part one of the upcoming GPOV and then this one and then the part two. Obviously I'm going with this for now and Garrett later – I'm even hoping to squish Garrett into one chapter, but we'll see. Because of my horrible indecisiveness I haven't even sent this to my fabulous beta team yet, so please excuse the mess and I'll replace the content when I get a chance. I figured you would rather have messy now than snazzy later._

_Thanks to Smudge, DazzleMe, De and Dar as always. _

_And also a huge thanks to two of the most awesome reviewers ever:_

_LiveFUNliveCRAZYliveHAPPY13, who wrote me a review so nice I want to print it out and frame it _

_And_

_DerFlash, (Hi Dan!) who feels likes he's one of the crew already and has to come join us on Twilight night. _

_Thank you all for reading and reviewing, we are over 1,000 reviews and that is beyond insane. I am so very thankful. You rock. Have some Edward._

_(Hopefully you can stomach this one Dan! )_

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Minutes later we race down the main street of Port Angeles, thankfully masked by the moonless night. Not even the fear of discovery would be enough to stop me now. I reach the small jewelry store with Jasper on my heels my dead heart nearly restarts when I pick up the very faint yet still discernable trace of his scent.

"It's faint, but it's here!" Jasper calls to Rosalie and Emmett still a half block behind us.

_Are you ready for this, for whatever we may find? _ He thinks, affording me some privacy. There is nothing but concern in his eyes.

"I could be no more ready," I reach over to squeeze his shoulder, a silent thank you for all he has already done for me tonight.

We take off in the opposite direction heading for the trees that line the highway on the other side of town, moving slowly enough for Emmett and Rosalie to catch up.

"All right," he directs to us aloud. "It is only his scent but we do not know if he is traveling alone. Stay aware, stay alert, and trust your senses. We know very little of what we may be facing so stick together."

"Yes Sir, Major Whitlock sir!" Emmett calls with mock exuberance. Rosalie's tinkling laughter only serving to encourage him as he starts in a round of a marching cadence. I can't help but laugh along with them, almost giddy. It is joy, pure undiluted joy bubbling up and overcoming me. I am on my way and whatever the distance I am closer to her than I have been in a century and a half. I am closer than I ever thought I could be and my excitement is almost tangible.

The peace of the night is cut short by the shrilling of three of our phones. The small phone is not yet to my ear when I hear Carlisle's panicked shouting from the other end.

"Stop! Edward you have to stop now!"

"Pardon?" I can make no sense of his command.

"Edward, turn around and come home now."

"Are you…are you completely out of your mind?" I reply with an uncharacteristic rudeness. "We found his scent, Carlisle. We have a lead to her. The only lead we have." I remind him as I hear similar iterations coming from both Jasper and Emmett.

"Edward—we…we found her," he enunciates, calmly, carefully.

I dig my feet into the soft earth, pulling myself to a sudden stop. Emmett, busy on his own line crashes into me. He reaches to steady me, shifting his weight back as I pitch forward but the momentum is too much. The small phone is ripped from my fingers as the force of Emmett is enough to send us both head over heels down the small embankment. As soon as we stop tumbling I scramble through the underbrush in search of the small phone still trilling with Carlisle's voice. "…wrong and we have to trust that, please, I…" I manage to make out as I grab the phone still buried under a pile of leaves displaced by our scuffle.

"Wait. Wait, please, stop. You said you found her." I am trying to remain calm when I feel as if I am in danger of taking flight. They found her! Found her. She is real. She is real and alive, well alive enough and I could see her, maybe even tonight? The thought is enough to send me almost entirely out of my mind. Tonight, I could maybe hold her? Will she let me touch her, really touch her and pull her into my arms? Is there a god that merciful? After all I have done, all I have endured, is there a god merciful enough to grant me this? Will she forgive me enough to give me a chance? Will she allow me to hold her again? Will she hate me? Will she come running into my open arms, where I will keep her until...

"Well, not exactly," he replies guardedly

Reality crashes into me as the dream slips through my fingers. My now empty fingers reach for the bridge of my nose on their own accord. "I need a better explanation and I need it now before I lose my mind entirely."

I hear the rustle of the phone and Alice picks up the line. "Just come back and I'll explain everything."

"I am not moving unless you give me a damn good reason to leave the only lead I have to her."

"Edward," she snaps. "Come back now, you can't go this way. Something isn't right. I need you to trust me. I want her back as much as you do but it can't be this way."

"I am through with the way things can't be." My voice is icy, calm and cool—the complete opposite of the desperate burning I feel to my toes.

"Damn it Edward! Since when do you not trust me?"

"Since she has managed to exist a century and a half under your nose and you haven't a clue" I spit all my frustration at her. Before I have even a moment to regret my outburst, Jasper has me by the shoulder.

"That was uncalled for." His glare is murderous, "You have no idea what this has been like for her."

My fingers drift back to the bridge of my nose. "You are right, of course. My apologies Alice, I…"

"I may not know if that trail leads to her Edward," She snaps, "but I'll tell you this: your path leads to catastrophe. Something is wrong, very wrong. Come home, we'll create a plan. I'll run through all the possibilities. I will not have your stubbornness be your ruin again. Come home, now."

I jerk my phone from my ear as she slams hers; hard enough to shatter it I'm sure. I try to temper my frustration. I battle every instinct I have to run ahead, continue down the best lead I have to her. Slowly, I turn back towards the house.

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"So you're saying you saw an attack against us, from this Garrett?" Emmett asks once Alice finishes sharing the vision that brought us back.

"Not exactly, it is an attack—yes, but I don't believe it is him. He seems to be just as badly affected as you and Rose. As I said, Edward bears the brunt of it. It hits him first and takes him down, he doesn't get up again. He doesn't so much as move through the rest of the vision. As soon as Edward goes down, Garrett shoots out of the house and he seems to be aiming for Jas but you three go down together. Garrett is by your feet, but you don't fall like everyone else. You seem to be trying to fight it, but not well. Within a minute or two you go down as well."

She pauses a moment, running through the vision again, seeking any additional information, anything at all to help explain this.

"It just doesn't make any sense. I can't see a single sign of a physical injury or reaction, which would leave me to believe it is an offensive attack such as Jane's."

"But as far as we know Jane is limited to an individual attack and that wouldn't explain Jasper's immunity," Carlisle interjects.

Her head shaking, she runs through a series of other recent visions before turning back to Carlisle. "If it were Jane or anyone from Italy, I should have been able to see them or at least see someone making the call to send them. And Jasper isn't necessarily immune; it just seems to affect him differently."

"Perhaps it is emotionally based?" Jasper pauses his pacing by the dining room doors. "It is technically possible..." He runs his hand down his face, convincing himself just as much as he is convincing us. "And, it would explain why Garrett was after me. I would be the only one with a chance in hell of fighting it off. It doesn't entirely line up though. Your attacker would have to be exceptionally strong and very well controlled to be able to execute something of that magnitude. It would take an enormous effort to keep a continuous push, enough to keep five of us down despite my interference. He would have to be much older than I and more experienced. I wouldn't be able to come close to sustaining something that large and that aggressive."

His pacing picks up again as he rubs his forehead, mumbling to himself. "Yet if this attacker can harness that sort of power, he should be more than capable of targeting the attack. Why would Garrett also be affected?" He stops again and looks over to Alice. "I would imagine they would have to be close by. Close enough you should have been able to see another player, Al. I can't think of anyone that would be able to pull this off."

Alice is rubbing her temples and scanning through the vision again. "There is no one else, I keep trying and it is only the four of you and Garrett, who is just as worse for the wear. The attacker must be inside the house."

Emmett pushes up from his chair and runs his hands through his hair. He keeps his eyed glued to the table top and without looking up takes a deep breath. "Alright, alright… I'll do it... I'll say it..." He takes another unnecessary breath. "How do we know it isn't her?"

"Her?" I look up to him in shock. I was so caught up in the constant replay of Alice's vision he has actually caught me off guard. Before I can pull the words from his mind, truth dawns on me while he keeps his head ducked to avoid meeting my eyes. "You mean _Bella_, Emmett?" I hiss, "How do we know it isn't _Bella_ attacking us?"

How could he accuse her of such a thing? I slap my hands to table as I rise to my feet in fury. "You do remember Bella, don't you Emmett? The girl that had me escort stray spiders back outside is behind this—attacking half the family?"

"Edward, please, no one is accusing her of anything." Esme comes up behind me and places her small hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me back to my seat. "Our Bella would never attack us, we know that." I am momentarily mollified and relax under her hands sinking back into my chair. "But Edward, we have to be cautious and approach this realistically. I don't believe Bella would ever intentionally hurt any of us, but we can't say for sure what she is capable of now. We don't know what talents she may have developed or how she chooses to use them. We don't know her now, Edward."

This is ridiculous. I know her, I will always know her. No matter her changes or the years between us or what I had done or how angry she could be – I know she would never, could never… My temper flares again but I am cut short before the words reach my lips

"And you are sure there is no one else Alice?" Carlisle cuts in. "No other details? No other variations?"

"There is no one else outside the house. The only other vision I have had tonight is a very brief glimpse of the same stone house on fire. No Garrett, no attack, only the fire and a very frustrated Edward. It came a few times, always just the flash but it seems that course was aborted, I haven't seen it again."

"And since we have returned?" I mumble through my hand still pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Nothing," she replies, laying her head back down on her arms on the table. "I see nothing at all."

"So what now," Rosalie asks from the doorway.

"We go back to what we were doing before the first vision," Carlisle says pushing away from the table. "Rose, Emmett, pick up again with the paper trail. Try to find anything in addition to that address from the publisher. She may have tried to go back to what she had known, try searching school districts for her name, her mother's name, anything you can think of that she may use. Jasper and I will continue to go through our contacts. It would be incredibly difficult to live as long as she has and encounter no one. Someone is bound to have seen her. Esme, will you please call the Denalis again? Elthazar might have some idea who our mystery empath may be. Edward maybe you should get back to her book, perhaps there is another clue in…"

Hands in my hair, I am halfway to the staircase as I cut him off. "Not now. Please let me know if you make any progress at all. I'll be in my room. I have a letter to write."

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_My dearest Eve,_

_How many times have I begged for a single moment, one moment to tell you the things I never said? One instant to right my wrongs, one single second to breathe you in and tell you I love you? There has not been a single moment since I have left you that I have not been living in my memories of you. _

_Before I had left, I lived in the fear that one day you would sit up and realize all you had given up, all you had sacrificed for me, as I stood beside you sacrificing nothing and gaining everything in return. On that day you would look at me, really see me and realize for all you had given up it wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth the price you had paid._

_It was never about loving you. The love I had for you then, the love I have for you now far exceeds anything I have ever experienced in this long life. I hope you know that. From the moment I met you I wanted nothing but you. Yet I pushed you away. I pushed so hard. I wanted you to know, no I needed you to know what you were doing. I needed you to be sure. _

_I would be responsible for taking everything from you, for knowing all along that it wasn't fair and it wasn't right and stealing your life from you anyway. I just couldn't do it. I can only imagine what you think of me, but I hope you will trust me when I say I never believed I was smarter than you Bella. I never for a moment believed of my own superiority. It was not my arrogance that had driven me to make these impossible choices for you—to alter both of our lives so drastically based on what I had believed to be the best for you. The truth is the only thing I ever believed I understood better than you did Bella, is what it feels like to lose everything._

_You were so very young, how could you have known? How could you feel the loss of your baby in your arms before you could even dream of children? How could you feel the loss of the ties to your family when you still take their presence for granted? How could you know the loss of your humanity when you are still learning what it is to be human? I never thought you were naïve Bella, but you were young. You were so very, very young. How could you possibly come to terms with the loss of your future when that future is so abstract?_

_Can you now understand? Can you now see that one cannot possibly appreciate how much there is to lose until it is gone? You cannot know that price until it is paid._

_For as much as I was wrong, both in making choices for you and for thinking I had one modicum of experience in what loss truly was, I wanted everything for you. I wanted you to have all that was taken from me. I wanted for you all that I could never offer you, and I had lost sight of all that I could._

_I tell you these things not to defend what I have done but to try to convince you that as wrong as I may have been, every choice I had made was based in my love for you. I can only hope you find some small solace in my intentions, though I have suffered for them every day since I had left._

_Of all of the things that pain me now, and I assure you there are a great many, the thought that you have lived these years doubting the honesty of one single moment we had together is one of the most haunting. It kills me to think that the memories of us—of every touch, of every kiss, of every confession whispered into your ears under the blankets of darkness that have sustained me these cold and lonely years—have been no comfort to you as well. Or even worse, that those moments that mark the very best of my life have brought you nothing but pain. _

_Do you truly know how I feel for you? Can you know how desperately I have missed you every moment since I left? Do you know how I loved you then and how I have loved you every moment since? Do you know that for all my years, I was born the moment you loved me? You had awoken in me things I did not know I was capable of feeling. You brought me colors Bella, colors in a life that was nothing but grey every moment before you. You brought me music; where there was only noise. You brought me laugher, a joy I haven't felt since I was a boy. You granted me an innocence I never thought I could reclaim. You shined a light on every cold, dark and lonely place inside of me. You made me more than I could have ever hoped of being. _

_I have spent these years dreaming of the things I could say to you, the things I would do if I could have one single moment more. Now I am here. Now that I have the moment I never thought I would see and all I can think is that it isn't enough._

_A moment to beg your forgiveness is not enough. A year to whisper I love you is not enough. A hundred years to worship you, a thousand years to breathe you, millennia to claim you and it would not even come close to being enough. _

_All of the things that had held me from you—my archaic morality, my struggles with myself, my unwavering championing for all I thought you should have—they mean nothing to me now. I am no longer concerned with these rights and wrongs. I care not what some higher power would decide that I deserve or you deserve for the things we have done. As you had told me all those years ago Bella, it doesn't matter. None of it matters. All things pale in the shadows of losing you. _

_The only thing that matters now is that I love you. The only thing that will ever matter is that I love you. I love you with a fierceness time has only strengthened. I love you for all that we were, I love you for all that you have been without me, and I love you for all of the things we still could be._

_If I am too late, if there is too much time and too much pain between us, I understand. Some things are unforgiveable no matter how desperately I may wish otherwise. Having the chance to tell you how sorry I am, to tell you once more how I love you is a gift I had never expected. Just knowing you are out there somewhere and that you can be happy again is more than I could have ever asked for. _

_But if there is any semblance of a chance that you could love me again Bella, I will fight for you. I will fight for us with every single breath left in my body. Tell me there is a chance Bella. Tell me there is some part of you that remembers how the world would melt to nothing when I held you in my arms and I will tear down every obstacle between us. Tell me there is a chance and no matter where you are I will find you. I will find you and I will drop to my knees and thank god for the chance to wrap my arms around you once more and I will beg for your forgiveness for the next thousand years._

_I love you Isabella. I have loved you from the moment we met and I will love you forever, every single day of forever. Give me the chance to show you._

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Chapter end notes:

For those that have asked: I hope to continue A Life Undone as soon as I finish FE. I have a really, _really _limited amount of time to write and I don't want to hang up FE because I'm trying to take on too much!

Notes on the letter and breakdown of upcoming chapters! Don't continue if you don't want to know!

Okay so, the switch from Eve to Bella in the letter is intentional and a reflection on how he wants to follow her 'rules' by writing the letter and sticking with her assumed name. But then he starts really pouring his heart out and drops all the pretenses and really 'talks' to her. So there you go.

We are getting awfully close to the end here, peeps. We're going to finish out Bella's back story in the next few chapters. I am going to guess the one more GPOV (maybe split into two if it becomes too much) another storm and then we're all caught up to the present. Give me a chance to finish up her past and we're going head first into all of the things you have been asking for! The reunion is coming! Squeeeee!


	25. Part 1: Introductions

_Okay, so I went back and forth about posting all this as split chapters or not. In the end I'm splitting it, mainly just because the rest of it isn't done yet and it has been a while since the last chapter. Plus, the first half is more than 5,000 words and I know a lot of you prefer smaller chapters. I'll try to bust my chops on the rest, but it has been particularly crazy these last few weeks so as usual I am making no promises. _

_Part of the reason this whole chapter was such a pain is that the history is mostly accurate. Many a year ago when I was fleshing out the plot line, I stumbled into the history of Dacia (modern day Romania) and was blown away with how the actual history lined up with the story ideas I had. Really, really crazy stuff. The king, the battles, the mysterious ending, the Draco, it is all accurate. So the history is real, minus the vampirism, of course. (…but it is awfully coincidental…)_

_Moving on… I am guesstimating that the next half will be the end of GPOV, So B's back story is almost over… and you know what that means…_

_Kisses to D, S, and T. Who indulge me more than I deserve. _

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Frustrated,Itoss the stick out from the cover of trees. While I haven't seen anyone in hours, it is not worth the risk. Not when we are this close. The bright sunshine has us trapped for the next few hours at least. I sigh as I head back into the woods and find her lounging at the base of a branch a few feet off the ground.

"How about that history lesson while we wait?" She calls down to me.

"Now is as good a time as any, I suppose." I hop up to her branch and balance on a fork and take a seat, swinging my feet and watching our whole branch sway.

"The Trinity can best be explained as half vampire history and half fairy tale. To most, the Trinity is nothing more than legend," I begin. "So you know the rule against immortal children, yes?"

She responds with a roll of her eyes, "I am not entirely hopeless."

"Well The Volturi would have you believe the law is simply what they say it is: A rule to insure the accountability of every vampire, to protect us from detection. They would have you believe that children are too impulsive, too destructive to handle the change and the newborn years. They are too much of a liability. While there may be a shred of truth to that, for the most part, and as usual they are entirely full of it."

"Not again." She sighs with a dry chuckle, banging the back of her head on the trunk. "Shall I go fetch you a lovely tin foil hat? I swear Garrett; the conspiracy theories get crazier and crazier. If you put half the effort into…"

"This is completely true." I insist. Can she not see the importance of what I am trying to tell her?

"They always are Garrett." She chuckles again shaking her head.

I spare her a dirty look before continuing.

"Around 85 AD in what would someday become Transylvania and even later become Romania, there was a country called Dacia. Dacia was ruled by powerful king named Diupaneus. He was known a brilliant strategist, credited with reuniting the 'states' of Dacia so to speak and making Dacia a very powerful nation. He was also a renowned and fierce warrior. Legend has it he was so brilliant in battle during the early years of his reign; his subjects had renamed him Decebalus meaning 'strong as 10 men.'"

"A vampire?" She interjects.

"Precisely," I smile over at her. "Since Egypt it had been common to turn those in the most powerful positions. It became almost a form of insurance, granting one eternal life tends to make one rather loyal to the cause."

"So Decebalus was not just the king of one of the most powerful nations, he was the vampire king of one of the most powerful nations. Before his reign, the vampire council had been based in Dacia. As was usual for the time it was comprised of the oldest vampires. But things were changing. Cities were changing. Vampires were changing. Most importantly, people and their beliefs were changing. Christianity was taking hold. And where we once were worshiped, fear had begun creeping in. The council was hesitant to change. As he gained power Decebalus saw them for what they were at the time; archaic, mistrusted, fairly weak and widely disrespected. So he dispatched the council and declared himself King of the vampires as well as humans."

"Dispatched?" She interrupts.

I stare at her, raise my brows expectantly and one side of my mouth curves up.

"Dispatched," she repeats pressing her lips together with a nod, "Got it."

"Surprisingly for someone who up and declares himself king of anything, he was not a horrible ruler. He had a wicked temper and served as judge, jury and executioner to both species of his subjects. Yet he organized those in his rule and helped protect them, mostly from each other. Those that were able to palate the thought of a monarchy were content to let him hold his title. Yet as the years went on he began to grow paranoid, obsessive in holding his crown."

"This paranoia began to eclipse the same strategic intuition that won him his following. He began to quietly track down and execute anyone he considered a threat, a distinction that was not very difficult to earn at the time. It was the oldest and most talented that bore the brunt of his insecurities. As his tenure and his massacres led on, there were stirrings in Rome."

"The Volturi?" she asks sitting up on her perch.

"But of course," I reply, not masking my distaste. "Several millennia younger, they were quite a bit more charismatic yet every bit as ruthless. They played Decebalus' insecurities against him. They offered the promise of a new ruling council, not a self serving monarchy. Considering their most valuable allies would be the very ones Decebalus had been out to assassinate, the Volturi had very little difficulty in recruitment. Given Dacia's human political power at the time and the fact that the Roman King was indebted to the Volturi, the Romans – both the human king and his army and the Volturi and their army - invaded Dacia.

The Roman army was larger than Dacia's by far. The Volturi's contributions far outweighed Decebalus' own champions, yet no matter the tactic they tried, they could not budge him or his army from their foothold. The Dacians easily beat back the first invasion. Every assassination attempt was thwarted. Every spy was captured. The second invasion did gain the Romans a tract of land, yet they were still beaten back by an army a barely quarter of their size."

"Decebalus and Dacia seemed utterly unstoppable."

"Now this is where it gets really interesting." I bait, as I turn on the branch to be able to face her. "According to the Volturi version of events, one of Decebalus' highest ranking officers was captured. Through the gifts of their guard, they were able to break the man, gaining enough information to hit Decebalus where he least expected it. Within a few days Decebalus had met the true death by suicide and Dacia was under Rome's command."

"And the other version?" She leans in towards me, completely engrossed.

"The_ true_ version has it the Volturi were completely stumped. Both the King and the Volturi were starting to look weak and incompetent. The Roman king especially was more than a little fed up of being embarrassed in Dacia. By all accounts, both Rome and the Volturi were bested."

"So the three were locked in their tower plotting a final strategic attack when a small girl appeared before them, she was incredibly young, Dacian, and a vampire. She claimed the secret to Decebalus' invulnerability lie with his 'children'. She was one of his former human subjects. Her father, a criminal sentenced to death, had offered her life in exchange for his."

"That is horrible," She interrupts again, sitting forward. She shakes her head in disgust as the light sneaking through the foliage sends shards of light glittering off of her skin. "Why would someone do that to their child?"

I can only shrug, "Life was much different then, harder, especially those unlucky enough to be born female."

"It is still horrible." She adds, settling back in her branch. "Did he mean to turn her?"

"No one quite knows his motivation at the time. Perhaps he was merely interrupted, or curious. Regardless, the girl became his greatest achievement. He soon realized his ward was talented for and above anything he had ever seen. So he sent his spies to the villages, keeping tabs on all the children and chose the strongest and the brightest for his experiments. Only the very best and most useful were kept. It was an atrocious and vile action, yet it was a brilliant move on his part. He was able to Control the humans with the concerns for their children, publicly executing any vampire causing him trouble by pinning the deaths on them and slowly and privately amassing his collection. In the end his crown jewels were the three, the Dacian Trinity, whose combined powers alone were enough to keep Decebalus in his crown."

"At first his children were easy to control, easy to manipulate. With no memories of their previous lives, a defeated Army would cost him no more than a few villagers, a pony, a new dress, a new bauble. The children were spoiled, coddled and blind to the fact they were being used. But all children grow up, even the immortal children. After 30 years a girl is an adult even if she appears to be a child still. As they grew beyond the ability of being so easily used they became nothing more than prisoners."

"So the Trinity had enough of being Decebalus' pawns and presented a solution to appease both parties. The Romans would again invade Dacia and the Trinity would not hamper them, they could claim Dacia and bring Decebalus' human crown under Roman rule and move the vampire governing body to the Volturi and to Rome. In return the Volturi would kill Decebalus and remove any evidence of them at all. Most importantly the Volturi would swear on their rule they would use every resource at their disposal to prevent children from being used as weapons again."

She leans forward on her branch again, wrinkling her brow. "But if they were powerful enough to take down the Roman army, why would they not 'dispatch' this Decebalus themselves?"

"I can only assume it was part politics and part self preservation." I reply with a shrug. I had spent quite some time debating the very same question with Dar. I lean back on the branch leaning my head on my folded hands. "As is customary, if Decebalus was to fall whoever had defeated him would be named as the new ruling party. Not only were the Trinity obviously tired of the blood, the violence and war and were disinterested in further responsibility of vampire affairs. Additionally and more probable in my opinion is they feared idolizing the turning of children. The Trinity were a very closely guarded secret. Decebalus would not risk his human subjects learning what was becoming of their children, just as he would not allow anyone to learn of his secret weapon."

"Think of it Elisabeth," I rise to sitting, "what do you believe would happen if it became common knowledge that children could be turned and would posses advanced abilities, abilities that could challenge the Roman Empire?"

"There would not be one fool with delusions of grandeur that did not create an army of children." She replies with a small, sad shake of her head. "So if they are so secretive, how do you know all this?"

"Oh that's easy." I reply with a smirk, leaning back on my branch, "I know everything."

Her eyebrows rise expectantly.

"Through Dar," I admit. "They have an almost friendship and I was lucky enough to hear the stories from her."

"And how do you suppose we find them?"

"They find us. If they are interested in seeing us, that is. I sent word to Dar and I trust she'll forward the message."

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I feel the cool water shift by my feet. Patience, just be patient I caution myself as I continue to busy myself rinsing the dirt from my clothing. We have been staying close to where Dar had suggested, but after almost two weeks with no contact at all I am starting to worry. I would have expected something by now. I have to make contingency plans in the even they decide we are not worthy of an audience. Where else can we go? As much as I hate the thought, the very best I can come up with is Eleazar. I can bring him here to her. Certainly he trusts me enough to come if I call, it is just a call I hate to make. As much as I dislike the idea of dragging him into this, I am even less fond of the thought of Katie getting wind of my companion. It is a horribly selfish desire. My loyalties must lie with Elisabeth. Technically this is all my doing. I cannot leave her to fend for herself over what another woman may think, even if that other woman is Kate.

Another small disturbance brings me back to myself. I continue my much needed grooming, unbraiding my hair taking careful consideration to remove all the small debris. I survey the surrounding woods again; satisfied they appear empty I close my eyes and concentrate on my hearing. A few small heartbeats, wings flutter, leaves rustle and otherwise I appear to be entirely alone in the river. I feel another ripple, slowly creeping upwards. Not much longer now.

But how much longer, I sigh to myself, how much longer should we wait, another week, two? Two seems excessive; I will just have to assume that no word is a refusal. A week then, another week and I'll send a note to Dar, see if she has news. And if there is no word of the Trinity I shall call Eleazar. There is no better alternative.

Contingency plans solidified, I finish unbraiding and run my fingers through the wavy mess, untangling the ends. Another more powerful wave caresses my legs, the interruption of the water still delicate enough to be missed by anything besides the fish and myself. I place my hands on the top of the water, acting as though I am about to go under to rinse my hair and I feel the water practically quiver with restrained power. One second more… I take an unnecessary deep breath and close my eyes, tipping my head back as just another part of the act. I feel the water shift again and rather than slowly slipping back and under the cool water, I drop to my knees and sink down too quickly for even the fish to follow. My hand shoots upward, caching her by the ankle as she attempts to turn her gross overshoot into a flip. She tries to struggle, but my grip is rock solid as I jump back to my feet holding her still by the ankle.

"Something wrong with your side of the river, love?" I ask as I hold her aloft. Her laugh echoes from the trees.

"Damn you!" she shouts, slapping the water for effect. "How did you know?"

I right her and float back slowly.

"It is amazing you manage to eat if you consider that stealthy." I flash one of my most teasing smiles as she rearranges her shirt, "Toss me the shampoo?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" she calls back as she ties off her own hair, "I would like to see you do better, I seem to remember a certain night in Rio Ebro." I slip underneath the water and inch closer, waiting until she turns toward my bag on the bank "How big was the one that got away agai…"

I spring up out of the water just high enough to place my hands on her shoulders and push her back and down, rear first, into the water and the mud below. Using the momentum I swing forward, hopping over her and head towards the shore. I don't make it three feet before her hands catch my leg. Rather than hold tight she kicks the back of my knee hard enough to pitch me forward. Her other knee comes up to the back of my neck as she grabs my arms, pins them behind me and forces my head down into the mud. I am horrified and proud at the same time.

"Say uncle!" she shouts in triumph.

I release the tension in my arms, letting her think she has won this round. I pull my feet underneath me, the best I can under present conditions and kick into the mud, swinging back and causing her to lose enough of her grip that she tumbles back into the water. We both reach our feet in the same instant and slowly circle each other.

"You will pay for this." I call out to her pointing to my mud covered hair.

Her laughter echoes from the banks. "Bring it on, old man." She challenges, with a grin, soaked, muddy and positively radiant.

She feigns right. As I compensate she lunges forward hands outstretched and knocks me off my feet back into the water. When did she get that fast? I jump up, spitting out water. She is doing some sort of silly little victory dance shaking her fists like maracas and rocking her hips back and forth. Combined with fact she looks like a drowned cat, it is enough to have me doubled over laughing smacking the water, until a small voice freezes us both in place.

"Can I play?"

The young girl sits high in the tree on the opposite riverbank staring down at us with amusement. Elisabeth flashes to a position of defense by my side a moment before I use my forearm to sweep her behind me.

The girl merely laughs as she drops to the ground in a crouch before righting herself. Hands behind her back, she walks to the river's edge. Up close she is even younger than I had first imagined. I cannot even begin to guess her human age, less than ten surely. She would barely reach my waist. She is thin, dressed in a simple burgundy shift and barefoot. Shiny cooper coils snake up both of her arms, pale for even our kind. Her long brown curls frame an angelic round face. Only the red glow of her big, sweet eyes betrays the picture of childhood innocence.

"She is more than we had been led to believe." She directs to me with curiosity managing to still eye Elisabeth warily.

"_She_ can be addressed directly." Elisabeth announces coming to my side again. I reach my hand out to squeeze hers. A warning now is not the time to appear defiant. The girl may appear the ethereal picture of her youth but I have no doubt she is every bit as capricious and lethal as the legends claim.

Her soft, sweet chuckle surprises us both. "So she will be," she allows appearing rather amused. "My apologies, old habits are certainly hard to break. We mean no disrespect." Her wide smile, intending to be disarming I'm sure, is nothing short of incredibly creepy.

Elisabeth somehow manages a weak smile in return.

"Please forgive the delay in greeting you properly." She says as we head out of the water to join her on the bank. She takes a few steps backward as we emerge, taking careful consideration to angle her body as far from Elisabeth a possible. "We prefer to have a bit of information in regard to our visitors, especially in circumstances such as these."

"I would expect nothing less." I admit reaching for a dry shirt in my pack.

"Then we shall give you the opportunity to dress. Feel free to follow at your leisure." With a small nod she disappears back into the woods.

My back to Elisabeth, I remove my fairly cleaned yet still soaking clothing and don a new set. I wring out the excess water before shoving them into the pack. My mind spins through not only the strange introduction, but the thought of the 'information' they would have been gathering. While I still believe this is the best avenue currently available to us, there is a certain aura of intensity surrounding the girl that makes me incredibly uneasy. Hearing a sigh behind me, I turn back to Elisabeth and I can feel the tension rolling off of her as she busies herself tying up her boots.

"That was…" she trails off staring back at the tree the girl had been perched in.

"Uncomfortable?" I offer, "unexpected, intimidating?"

"Creepy", she finally finishes with a dry chuckle. "I had no sense of her at all. I hadn't known a single thing was out of place until she spoke."

"I would venture that was intentional" I reply reaching down and offering her my hand. I help her to her feet and make motion for her to take the lead as I reach behind her and pick up her pack as well before heading for the trees and following the trail left for us.

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We reach the small stone house quickly and again I am rather bewildered we spent weeks in these woods and never had inkling it was so close. It is a simple and ancient stone structure so tightly bound by trees it appears to have grown from the dirt alongside them. A well sits off the back side of the small clearing. The only other adornment is a long strange red and green cylinder the size of the child, hanging from the closest tree branch. Elisabeth draws closer reaching out to turn the strange object. It is brass with a thick patina, some sort of animal head with what appears to be multiple tongues. A dog perhaps, leading into the body of a dragon before becoming the long red fabric tube. She turns to cock an eyebrow in my direction and I only shrug, having never seen anything quite like it. It seems to encourage the same general feeling of unease as the girl. She comes from behind us as we are admiring the strange decoration.

"It is a Draco." She announces with another incredibly unsettling smile as if that were explanation enough.

I nod as though I have any idea what a Draco is supposed to be. Rather unconvincingly I assume as she reaches out and lets the tail of red ribbon run through her fingers. "It was to be held aloft by a guide as he rode into battle." She explains. The focus in her eyes is much, much farther than the tree line. "The wind of the rider would cause the Draco to sound as if it were screaming. A horrible keening wail meant to intimidate your enemies. We keep it as a wind chime." She admits, turning back to us with a small shake of her head, bringing herself back from her memories. "A private joke if you will."

"Shall we?" she motions to the door. As much as I would love to enter first and assure myself there is no danger, I do believe formality will do us more of a service at the moment. I reach out and hold the door for our host as she gathers her skirt and walks over the threshold. With a questioning glance Elisabeth follows and I can only hope I am making the right call, that the courtesies will be mutual.

I have to duck slightly to make it under the door frame. It is nothing more than a large room, smelling clean yet of age and disuse. A stone hearth fireplace holds an entire wall. The remainder of the space is sparsely yet elegantly appointed. Large plush couches converge in the middle of the room, bordered by small tables. Lush rugs are underfoot and several candelabras line the room.

The girl manages to gracefully sit on a couch I would have assumed to tall for her small frame to manage without jumping. She crosses her ankles and waves us over to the opposite seat before folding her fingers together.

I am Garr…" I begin only to be stopped by her small hand held upright.

"We know who you are," She announces staring at me in a way that is meant to convey they know much more than our names. "…and who you are not."

I close my mouth and venture a glance at Elisabeth who looks every bit as wary as I feel.

"You are her maker." A statement, not a question, she continues to stare into me with an intensity that forces me to fight the instinct to flinch away, "but she is not yours."

"She is mine enough." I reply, staring back, fueled by the anxiety of this line of questioning.

"No," her tone shifts from cool to frigid. "Not enough." The air begins to hum with the power radiating from her. "You have knowingly taken that which is not yours…and still you keep her." She accuses, never breaking her glare, "which can only beg the question of your motivation."

The accusation is so horribly insulting; the insinuation I would use her in that way flares my temper enough to bring me to my feet. Before my better judgment can halt my actions I am practically shouting "If you are insinuating…"

I am suddenly unable to speak. I am unable to breathe, unable to move. It is not painful, just incredibly frustrating and I fight the panic at the thought of being so very helpless.

"Your outrage is unnecessary, Patriot." She admonishes calmly, turning her attention back to Elisabeth who is frozen in her seat, gaping at the display before her. I try to caution her, as much as I am capable of anything at the moment, to remain calm and not to attempt anything that may make this situation worse. Our host is clearly capable of mopping her floor with the both of us without leaving her seat. Elisabeth doesn't stand a chance and I can tell the moment she accepts it and I am beyond proud of her composure. She is certainly the brains of this particular operation. She turns her attention back to the girl with a confidence hopefully only I know is fabricated as I see her mind racing with possibilities.

"Will you release him please?" She asks as calmly as if she were asking for another lump of sugar in her tea.

"He will remain uninjured." The girl replies evenly, "unless you were to wish otherwise, of course…" she trails off expectantly, her expression suggesting nothing but a polite interest.

"No, thank you," Elisabeth continues cautiously, bringing her eyes back to my frozen form. "I would prefer if he were released intact."

"You genuinely care for him?" The small girl's brow is slightly rumpled as she cocks her head to the side, with a small smile, "how very…curious."

Elisabeth takes another breath but is interrupted by the girl. "He will be released momentarily, uninjured as requested." the sardonic smile misplaced on her small face "But first there is other business to which we must attend. It has been decided, we will offer you the education you desire." Elisabeth's head snaps up and meets the calculated gaze of our host, before looking back to me. Again I can read the expression on her face. As I have taught her, everything carries a price. She looks back to the girl, "and your terms?"

The girl smiles again before leaning back on her seat. "You will remain here and will train under us. As we deem appropriate. If you choose to submit to the knowledge we share with you, you will benefit from the breadth of our experience."

Suddenly her voice becomes frigid again as she leans forward to stare at Elisabeth with one on the most frightening looks I have ever seen. I struggle harder with my invisible binding, trying desperately to reach out to her. "But be warned, if at any time we decided you are unable or unwilling to achieve control of your abilities, you will be executed. If you bring violence or attention to our sanctuary you will be executed."

She looks to me as if she can read the screaming in my mind. Nothing is worth this risk. She would be signing her own death warrant, leaving herself at the mercy of the whims of a clearly insane child. We will find another way.

"How long" Elisabeth asks of her.

"As long as we deem it necessary for you to attain the proper control, your gift is too precarious to be wielded so recklessly." The girl replies as she continues to renter me mute and motionless without as much as a passing glance.

"This is not his decision to make," the girl interjects, noticing Elisabeth's wavering attention. "This belongs to you and you alone. He is no longer of consequence."

"He is of great value to me." Elisabeth responds, her glare resolute and unwavering. "If I am to remain here, he shall remain with me."

"As you see for yourself, he is entirely incapable of protecting you here." the girl says with a patronizing smile

"I assure you," Elisabeth retorts, bristling at the girl's tone, "I do not value him for his ability to protect me."

"You are not in a position to negotiate." She almost snaps, as I realize this must be far from how she expected Elisabeth to respond. That's my girl, always doing the unexpected.

"He remains with me." She says again, forcefully.

The girl sighs and sits back on the couch. She closes her eyes and goes completely still. Minutes tick by with no change in her composure. I struggle harder at my restraints and am still unable to even breathe. Elisabeth looks over to me, cocking an eyebrow in question. I am hoping she is coming to the conclusion to just pick me up and run out of here. She may be old and powerful, but her power is not absolute. It would have to fade eventually. Just as I see Elisabeth coming to her own decision the girl's eyes flutter open. She spares a glance at me, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"It shall be arranged." She says, slowly shifting her attention to Elisabeth. "Perhaps we may have use for him after all."

"Then you have a deal."


	26. Part 2: Focus

Okay, so I didn't disappear again. : )

I'll spare you the minutiae, sick kid, other sick kid, sick me etc…etc… long wait.

And I'm not quite finished. But this half a chapter alone was passing 15k, which is well over 30 pages, so I figured screw it, cut the wait and the length and just post another chunk. So here you go. Part 2 of 3, with 3 to follow really soon. (Hopefully)

I've mapped out the rest of the story and as soon as we finish with GPOV, we have another storm, then an E/B split chapter and that folks will be the last split chapter. I really want to do that one first, but I need to get storm buttoned up and if I leave you hanging on the E/B I think I will get hate mail, so there you go.

Thanks to T and S who are always ready to chip in even when I don't harass them and of course super thanks to Dar who has to put up with so much of my crap I am genuinely surprised she still picks up the phone when I call.

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The panic grips my chest as the dragon slowly circles behind me. The cold sweat rushes through my body, I can feel the sting of it in my eyes but I know better than take my eyes from his for even a moment. Don't look away first. Don't look submissive. The sun behind him drapes him in shadows, only small patches of his scaled and scared skin sparkle with the deep purple hue of midnight. I eye the distance between the cave walls and his massive body. His entire form is loosely wrapped around me. He is circling, toying with me and enjoying my mounting panic as he teases me with the illusions of escape. I clench my fists and try desperately to ignore the stench of rotting meat and burned flesh that is slowly choking me. He comes back around, playfully sneaking in for another sniff. His enormous head rocking side to side, the curved horns grating on the cave walls shooting sparks to the floor that only encourage him. He huffs, his nostrils expelling a mist of saliva and rot. I try to breathe through, try to keep calm. The growl starts as a rumble, working its way from his belly and drowning every rational thought I have ever had. I hear the catch in his breath, know the fire is coming. I gauge his distance and lunge for the gap between the spiked tail surrounding me and the side of his head. Risky yes, but there is no other way, there is no other route of escape. I can tell before I spring I am too late. I know I'm too late, I know I'm too slow, but I have to try. We both know he is already the victor. He has left me no chance and still I cannot just stand here and submit to being burned alive. I will not give him the satisfaction.

I'm almost there, almost there. I can feel the sharp breeze rushing past as I stretch towards the opening. A sharp sweep of his head and he has me exactly where he wants me. The tail curves around just enough to bring me to face him, I feel the spikes digging into the side of my body, I sense his excitement as I feel the shock of my warm blood soaking through my shirt. The unmistakable stench of death mixes with the sharp tang of my blood and my panic. It is overwhelming. His eyes meet mine and I swear he smiles as I hear the catch again and my world explodes in flames. I bring my hands to cover my face although I know how useless it will be. The heat knocks me back into his tail, the sharp spikes rip from my side as the burning overcomes me. I smell my hair, my flesh melting away as I scream inhaling my own ashes with every breath, until the fire finally overcomes me with a blissful release.

"How long? How long will you let him burn?" The shrill scream hurts my ears. "Do you not see what this is doing to him? Do you not care?"

Still panting, I move the arm draped over my face and crack an eye from my place in the grass. She continues to scream at Elisabeth, wildly gesturing as she switches to a language lost millennia ago. She stomps to the tree line, still ranting, and a young boy follows in her wake. He is younger than she is, maybe five or six in human years. He has the same thick, dark hair, his falling only to his chin. He has the same strong nose, dark eyebrows and same intensity. But that is where the similarities end. She is usually nothing but completely calm and composed, He tends to be anything but. Given his flair for dramatics and wildly fluctuating temperament and attention span, I can see where immortal children get their reputation.

In any other circumstance it would be amusing to see the shift in their usual roles. Him trying to calm her, usually we cower from his tantrums while she soothes his temper. He mumbles the same archaic language and appears to be trying his hardest to comfort her. They disappear into the trees and I place my arm back over my eyes, blocking the harsh sun as I try to ebb the panic and control my unnecessary breathing.

We have been here in Romania for almost a year now. While we have come quite a ways since that first conversation, their mannerisms still remain unsettling, or as Elisabeth so eloquently stated, 'creepy'. The combination of the childish peculiarities they are forced to maintain, thanks to the timing of their change, and the disposition one develops after a few thousand years creates a rather disturbing amalgam of ancient and innocent.

They are both fierce; with impulsiveness that makes them terrifying. And yet I find myself being consumed by his dragon in the morning, beaten to submission by a brunette Shirley Temple by dusk followed by a midnight tea party complete with fine china and petty gossip. The effect is simply…surreal.

After weeks of referring to herself only as 'we' I braved asking the girl her name. She had only wrinkled her brow, spent a few moments in her motionless remembrances and announced it must have been lost to the millennia. And then she simply rose from her seat and walked away. I suppose as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. So I decided to call her Theresa, a nice Christian name. Suggesting someone who is not a complete sociopath, a worthy goal, not that I believe she appreciates my efforts.

I can hear footsteps approaching hesitantly, suggesting I had not been able to curb the screaming this time as well as I had hoped. I try to compose myself quickly, before she can see the residual terror. I crack an eye again to find Elisabeth's face hovering over mine, her hair a curtain over me as she looks on horrified.

"I think I'm growing on her." I say with a smile. My attempt at humor is in vain as she chooses to ignore me and begin a fresh round of apologies.

"I am so, so sorry. I am trying, really trying I swear Garrett. I am so, so, sorry."

I manage to make myself sit up and I let her pull me to my feet. "Don't apologize", I give her hand a squeeze, "I am just fine, see." I make a show of lifting my shirt to illustrate the obviously completely unblemished skin beneath. "I am fine. And you are making so much progress, I saw him shimmer a little this time."

"Really?" She asks wide eyed and so adorably innocent.

"Of course I did", the lies roll off my tongue smooth as honey. I try to project a cool confidence as I bite back the tremors still racking my body. Hopefully this will end today's lesson. There are only so many times a man can stand to be burned to death in a day.

Contrary to all of my expectations, with the obvious exception of my reoccurring death, the training is going incredibly well. While I can't quite imagine why, Elisabeth has become quite fond of the two we have met thus far. They seem to have taken to her as well. They hold their positions as her advisors seriously, well as seriously as the boy takes anything I suppose. Theresa had disclosed that each not only has his or her own ability, but they are infinitely more powerful together and also have the ability to borrow from each other. It does not extend beyond the three as Elisabeth's does, but considering the breadth of their abilities, it is the very best education I could imagine for her.

They insist the key to her ability is control. Not as I expected the control of the power she inherits, but the control of her own impulses. As they have been drilling into her it is not the power that is dangerous, but her complete inability to wield any power at all.

So that what they continue to do, expose her to their abilities and challenge her control over herself. They alter the abilities, alter the situations, alter the circumstances, and alter the strength they give her. The only thing that never seems to change is the victim. The party line may be that by using me they are also challenging her emotionally, teaching her to be impartial, to react without thinking. But after more than a week with the dragon, I have my doubts.

They keep her training daily. Her lessons vary, the focus mainly on her mental control of abilities in various situations, yet they also drill her on her physical control. She is far from a newborn and very well trained, if I do say so myself. But they do have things to offer her. While she is quite a bit larger than even the oldest, she is still rather tiny. And through the years they have certainly perfected using their smaller size to the advantage. Those days have become a highlight; I not only enjoy sparring with someone so skilled but have picked up quite a few new tricks myself. Not that I would ever admit that to anyone.

Days like today I am either the dragon food, or simply in the way. Theoretically I don't mind participating in her training, but remaining here for more than a year is beginning to wear on me. I am not meant to stand this still. I just can't bring myself to trust them enough to leave her. Even Theresa's insistence they use threat of execution as nothing more than a ploy to weed out the insincere does little for my confidence.

I can see them in the trees, but they have gone silent. I can only assume they are continuing their conversation with the telepathy they thankfully only share with each other. It is bad enough to spend every moment with them; I prefer to keep them out of my head as much as possible. She appears much calmer now, but hopefully her tantrum is enough for us to break for the day.

"Do you want something nice?" Elisabeth asks the grass. She has been able to wield his nightmares for a few weeks now. It had not taken her more than a month to be able to create projections at least while maintaining contact with her victim.

She laces her fingers in mine and takes me back to Charles' cabin. I feel the leather armrests of my favorite chair. I can smell the roses from the open kitchen window mixing with the very faint trace of damp earth. I open my eyes and she is shuffling the cards as she gestures to the glass at my elbow. I grin as I take a long gulp, savoring the long forgotten burn of whisky as my reward for another day of suffering. I check the edges of the room, the view from the window and can't see so much as a shiver. I grin again as I pick up my cards. "You really are making incredible progress."

"I just can't stop him" she growls, taking her frustration out on the cards she is tossing to me. "I feel it as if I have it in my hands and the second I try to move it or stretch it… it just dissipates."

The strongest of Theresa's gifts is the manipulation of boundaries. Within only a few days of instruction Elisabeth was capable of creating a physical barrier surrounding herself. After another week, and with contact, she was able to protect me as well. Not for the first time I had been extremely grateful for my resilience. I imagine the vast abundance of items tossed at me that week would have done some significant damage otherwise. As I am constantly reminded, mental barriers are much more complicated and currently she is attempting to shield me from the boy and his abilities.

His primary talent, what he calls dreaming, and I call nightmares means he can create anything. Or as he claims, he can encourage someone's mind to create anything at his bidding, anything at all, and it is realistic. It is precise and perfect and I am entirely unable to escape, no matter how prepared I may be going into it.

"She did warn you that only a very strong barrier could contain him. You cannot possibly expect to challenge him so soon." Her eyes rise to mine and I realize that is exactly what she had expected. "If only you would offer yourself a fraction of the same patience you offer others." I lecture although I know the unrealistic demands she places on herself is a battle I will never win. "Your whiskey is excellent, by the way, precisely how I remember it."

She snorts, as I expected choosing to ignore my admonishment. "It should be – you are the one supplying it, I'm just pulling it from your head."

"I still don't quite understand that one." I admit, turning over a few of my cards.

She studies her hand before turning her attention back to me. "It is really difficult to explain." She offers, "The reason it seems so real to you is because it is real for you. These are experiences you have had, your memories, your realities woven into my story. I am sort of…shopping…for lack of a better term, in your subconscious. I can whisper that it is sunny and your mind responds with the brightness and the warmth of the sun, because that is what you know of it. I say we are playing a game and you bring the cards, I tell you have a drink at your elbow, that it is appealing and delicious and exactly what you need right now. You create a glass of whisky from your memories." She pauses for a moment, looking back to her hand. "It is like a replay, of a drink you had long, long ago in the context I create. I wouldn't know where to begin with that one, but somewhere in there you remember the way that it looks, the way that it tastes. You believe it to be real because it is real, or at least it was at some point."

"The dragon is terrifying because I know fire and I know fear."

"Something like that" she answers with a grin, having never been burned alive and eaten I'm sure the dragon can be a laughing matter. "But you bring more into than that; you bring the feeling of bleeding and sweating, the smell of death, the fear of being mortal. You bring in things you don't even consciously know you remember. That is why it is all so believable."

"I still can't see why it has to be horrible" I grouse into my cards. "Not that _he_ could appreciate it I'm sure, but wouldn't saving me from a beach and a few beautiful women be every bit as challenging to you? I have enough of those memories to spare. I'll remember to scream now and then for good measure…"

"Oh, that is any easy one." She chuckles, pulling a few cards from her hand and placing them on the table. "He hates you."

"How could anyone hate me?" I ask with a smirk and raised eyebrow which sends her laughing again.

"I would imagine calling him Jackie certainly isn't helping you any." She replies dealing us both new cards.

"Well that is hardly my fault. I have to address him somehow, and if 'Jackie' earns me a burning what should I expect from calling 'hey you?' Plus, Jack suits him."

"Well it's your dragon." She replies with a laugh tossing her chips to the table.

X

O

X

I lean on the railing and look out across the open field to the full moon hanging low and think I am finally completely losing my mind.

This place is ours alone. The cool breeze smells like her. Smells like happiness, like home and I can't stop my thoughts of someone else.

I am worse than a mother hen.

This is ridiculous.

Elisabeth is a big girl. She could be someone's grandmother, great grandmother even. I am certainly not her mother and I am here. I am finally _here_ of all places, and I am as worked up as if I had left my babe to be minded for the first time.

I have left her before of course, as she has left me, but never for long and certainly never when one of us was so vulnerable. I still don't trust them entirely. But had she encouraged me to go, pushed even, and my wanderlust had finally got the better of me. I'm sure she is as well protected from Aro as I could ever hope, but I know how little they trust me and would hardly put it past them to try to place a wedge between us.

But would that be so wrong? Can they not offer her for more than I ever could? Is she not safer hidden away with long forgotten fairy tales? Again, she is not my child. Should I cut the apron strings and let her be on her own?

No of course not, it is not as if I had bound her to me forcefully. She has always been free to do as she pleases. It is she who chooses to keep my company. These are her decisions to make, not mine.

But would she, if she knew? Is this still the life she would want? Am I doing her justice keeping her from knowing of _him?_

No, I mustn't think this way.

Alea iacta est.

The die is cast. The path is set.

It is for her. It has always been for her. I will not, will never stand by and let her fall to pieces again. Why risk the happiness she has for the heartbreak she cannot now remember? What good is the boy who did not want her then, who may not want her now?

But, he may…if he knew…after what he had done in Italy…

No, no, that was the guilt, the guilt of killing her. Charles had said as much.

Anyway, the point is moot. Despite her progress she could not yet stand to be around the boy for long. It is not worth upsetting her for nothing.

Maybe, someday, but not today.

No, she has too much to balance now already. It would be cruel to tell her now. It would be wrong.

Then why does the weight of these secrets sit like a stone in my chest?

I sigh and hang my head. I must admit I do to appreciate the distraction my nervousness presents, at least this time it shouldn't be as difficult to pull myself away.

It has been harder and harder to do so. And it is not simply the leaving that troubles me. I have always thought of Kate, but now? Now it seems as if rarely think of anything else. My time is spent counting the moments until I may see her again, then dreading the moments knowing I will be leaving her soon.

And she…she just doesn't see, or doesn't care…or – god help me – can see just how insane and desperate and madly in love with her I am and pretends not to in an effort to spare me the embarrassment.

Oh god could she?

I cannot bear the thought of her pity. No, no of course not, she would not continue to see me if that were the case. She would never be so cruel. I am surely doing a better job of shielding my feelings than that. No, no I am keeping it simple, keeping it light, keeping it easy. The same as always, giving her only what she has grown to expect of me.

Yet simple, light and easy is starting to make me feel ill. I don't want simple, I don't want light. I want solid, I want real. I want to hold her when she cries. I want to be the ground that holds her up. I want to lay her head on my chest and run my fingers through her hair and tell her the thousands of reasons I love her. I want her to be not the home I come back to, but the home I don't leave. I want to claim her for eternity. I want to be hers and hers alone. I want the fruition of my ancient human fantasies: I want to see her draped in a red dress as swear my life and my honor to her as I had dreamed of doing long before I knew her name. I want…

And Elisabeth wants her boy and Katie wants distraction and I have made a mess of everything.

"Damn it…" I mutter to myself as I try to alter the obvious impression of my fingers on the railing. I cannot afford to fall apart this way. I cannot lose everything because I am far too weak to hold myself together. Elisabeth is better off this way, she is happy, she is fulfilled and Katie… This is what she wants and I am lucky to have this much of her.

Alea iacta est.

The die is cast. It is as it is. And on all counts what we have is far better than all we stand to lose.

I hear her light footsteps coming up behind me and despite the tumult in my mind I can hardly help the smile on my face.

"I was wondering where you had gone." She snakes her small hands around my waist and places a kiss on my shoulder. "I thought maybe since you had gotten what you came for, you had run off without saying goo…"

I turn and scoop her up before she can finish her goading. She tips her head back and laughs, blond hair spilling down my arm as I swing her legs up and hold her to me. I place a light kiss to her forehead, letting my actions say the things I cannot. "Woman, I am far from finished with you yet."

"Promises, promises…" she teases as I turn back towards the balcony door, kicking it closed behind me.

X

O

X

O

"You can tell me anything, you know." She pulls herself up, her head resting on the knees pulled to her chest.

I bite back the snort, a terrible habit I must have picked up from Elisabeth. I can't even begin to imagine the length of the list of things I could never, ever tell her.

"It is just…" Her nose crumples like a bunny, the way it always does when she is concerned. I avert my gaze in an effort to ignore how adorable it is. "You just seem so…distracted.

"Is that a complaint?" I turn back to her in mock outrage. It has the intended reaction as she laughs and reaches over to smack me.

"Hardly," she laughs again before making that little nose scrunch. "Really Garrett, Is everything alright?"

"I am fine." I smile back, "you worry too much."

Her head goes back on her knees. "It is just; you have been rather scarce of late. And it is not like you to be so serious."

It stings more than it should and I try to freeze the look on my face in an effort to not give even more of my insanity away. That is still how she sees me then, not serious, never serious. Not that I had genuinely believed her feelings had changed…

"As I mentioned before, I would have much rather been here but I have had commitments I could not abandon." My tone sounds harsher than I intended and I can't help but look away again. "And I can be serious Kate."How much longer can I endure this? The blind hope, the crushing disappointment of reality. I am worse than an addict. I am slowly killing myself and doing so willingly to be in her company in any measure I can.

"Not here you aren't," she counters with a smile as if it were nothing more than playful banter. As if she was not tearing me apart with her casual observations. She leans back on her pile of pillows, not breaking her gaze.

"Well, fine then." She adds, taking in my expression. "But if you need anything, whatever it is…"

I look over towards her, her head now propped up on her hand, the messy tangles of her gold hair glowing in the moonlight. She is so sweet, so beautiful it hurts. A dull empty ache in my chest the size of the heart she has held for so long now. Would she really be there if she knew of Elisabeth? Would she trust me enough to believe that she is the only one I have ever wanted? Would she forgive me for not breathing a word of her for so long? Would she not go running If she knew how I deeply I feel for her? Would she ever, could she ever, possibly love me the way I love her? Would she ever give them up for me? Can I give up what I am for her? Can I take these chances? Is she not worth anything, everything?

The words are on my tongue. I swear, as impossible as it may be, I feel myself break into a sweat as I look down on her and feel the words coming. The declaration caught behind my teeth as I take a single breath and feel the earth shift and I can do this. I can do this. She is worth this risk, she is worth anything.

"Above all else Garrett, I am you friend. I will always be here if you need me."

The air escapes my body in a huff. Of course, of course she is my friend, of course. "Of course," I barely manage to choke out.

I rise and start to search for my things, or at least whatever it is that may be salvaged. "I should go." I say without looking at her. I can't look at her, not now. Not until I get a better grip on myself.

"Now?" she asks, her surprise obvious, "so soon?"

"I am needed back in Europe." I reply, my head under her bed still searching for my other shoe, stupid shoes, stupid airport and their stupid shoe rules. "It was rather unwise to leave when I had, but you know me," never serious.

I sit back on my heels, where the hell could it have gone? I look up to see my shoe dangling from her fingers. She had attempted to dress, throwing on one of my shirts as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if it were already hers. As if it were keeping space beside hers nestled in her dresser, as if it belonged here, belonged to her.

Wonderful - more evidence of my insanity, I now find myself jealous of my clothing. Granted, it is well founded jealousy, the shirt she has no qualms claiming…

Her sleeves are rolled up and only a few buttons are done. I find myself unable to decide if her intention is to make me regret leaving, which she certainly is - or - if she is seriously trying to kill me, which she just may yet.

"I am worried for you."

I reach over and grab my shoe with one hand and ruffle her hair with the other. "Do not worry for me little rabbit; you know nothing keeps me down for long." I attempt a smile hoping it comes out less sardonic than I feel and fear yet again I am showing far more than I mean to.

She sighs and looks up at me in a way that will keep my delusions alive for months. How could she look at me that way if she feels nothing at all?

I kiss her forehead once more, breathing in the smell of her, of home and pretend for just a moment I have all I want so badly. I flash to the door, not giving myself the chance to look back. I leave her the shirt. One more piece of me left behind and as I walk under the pale moon I wonder how much more of myself I can leave with her before there is nothing left to take with me.

X

O

X

O

Elisabeth must catch sight of me first, I barely see her at all before she is practically on top of me.

"Guess what I have learned?" She asks in a rush a moment before I find myself frolicking towards her, practically skipping with arms stretched wide as if I were in some ridiculous old love story. It really is fascinating. Well, it would be fascinating if it were not so disconcerting. It is not painful, just unsettling to no longer be in control of oneself. My limbs are moving entirely on their own. It is less concerning than the first time yet again I am powerless to break the hold as my body reacts exactly as it would if it were my mind directing it.

"Isn't it fantastic?" she asks as I turn into an involuntary pirouette.

"Lovely." I manage, turning into a back flip. She releases me suddenly and it is enough to knock me off my feet. Sitting on the damp earth I flex my fingers, move all my various pieces to ensure they are back in my command.

"You have been busy." I laugh looking up to her as she reaches down to help me up.

"It is so easy!" She crows with a smile. "Really, it is as if I were commanding myself to move! I can understand why they had held this one back." She laughs.

"And why is that?" I ask absently, heading back for the pack I had abandoned in her choreography.

"It takes so little effort to use, but quite a bit of concentration to direct properly. I can imagine someone could cause quite a bit of destruction if not in complete control."

"It is how they defeated them, you know?" She continues, euphoric with her new skill and someone to practice on I suppose.

"How is that?" I ask mindlessly, dusting my pants although I am in horrible need of a shower.

"Rome," she clarifies. Still rambling excitedly, "Together they are strong enough to project whole battlefields! The shields would block the forces from view, the control kept them stationary and the visions kept them distracted! She said half the time there was no opposing force at all; the Romans stood stock still with the sheep and lost a battle in their minds! I wish I could have seen it..." She drifts off, imagining the battle in her own mind. A battle with no bloodshed, no losses, it would have been something to see.

"Could you imagine? Winning a war no one fought? Brilliant isn't it?"

She suddenly cocks her head, her eyes narrowing as they take me in, really looking at me for the first time since catching sight of me. She studies me carefully for a full minute, top to toes. I am beginning to guess I wear my heart on my sleeve more that I would like.

"You are a coward and a fool." She accuses, turning on her heel and stomping away.

"Wonderful to see you again too, my dear," I call out to her, letting her go back to the clearing and her lessons without another word.

I hardly need her to remind me of the things I know all too well.

X

O

X

O

I decide to skip the shower in favor of a swim down in the river. I spend the next few hours lying at the bottom of the river, letting the current wash away the dirt and tension I have carried back with me.

I return to the house right before daybreak to find another small girl awaiting me. The elusive completion of the trinity, she is no older than the boy, five or six maybe. Who knows? She is wearing the same sort of almost toga like simple dress Theresa favors. Yet hers is a jade green, complimenting the long auburn plait running down her back. Copper coils decorate her forearms as well. She turns with a smile.

"The master puppeteer I assume." I say entering the room.

"Guilty as charged." She allows with smile.

"What moniker will you grant me?" She asks, seemingly out of nowhere, managing to catch me entirely off guard. I am beginning to think it a hobby among them.

"Excuse me?"

"A name, as you had granted the others?" She prompts, not losing her smile.

"Oh," I reply looking her up and down. Her hair is a much muted shade of Maggie's. "How about Maggie?" I offer.

She scrunches her nose in response. "Well then how about…Siobhan?"

She shakes her head with distaste.

_Sh…sherona, shelly, shannon_

"Sharon?"

The smile returns. "Sharon," she says with a nod. "That is acceptable."

"Well then, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Sharon." I bow to her as she erupts in giggles and I flinch back in surprise. I cannot begin to imagine either Theresa with her elegance of Jack with his temper doing something so, well…appropriately childish as giggling.

"You are every bit as strange as expected," she continues to laugh.

"You really should be the welcoming committee," I tell her sincerely. She manages to exude happiness. "You are much less…severe…than your counterparts."

Her jaw twitches as her eyes narrow and I find myself frozen again. Well this will get old quickly. She comes close enough to practically be standing on my toes. Still barely reaching my waist she looks up into my eyes with a look completely devoid of any discernable emotion. To my great surprise she, this tiny wisp of a girl just may be the most terrifying of the three.

"Do not speak of that which you do not understand," she says quietly, carefully. She stares a moment more and apparently convinced her message is received she releases me with a wave of her small hand, her bracelets tinkling as they fall together.

"Shall we go and find your progeny?" she asks with the same lighthearted tone she held only moments ago.

"Elisabeth still hard at work?" I ask in surprise, momentarily distracted from my unease. "It is rather late for them, is it not?" Usually the evenings are reserved for hunting and recreation.

"You are well aware how persuasive she can be when she wants something badly enough." She laughs. "She will sit out there for days if that is what it takes to get him back."

"Him?" I mumble, I have no idea what she could possibly be trying to do, only that I cannot allow it to happen.

I am halfway to the clearing when I hear her reply. "Of course, that boy she is always talking about…"

I calmly walk to the crest of the hill. I don't want to overreact. I don't want to alarm her. Dear god, what should I do?

I find them in the middle of the clearing they use for training, Elisabeth, Theresa and Jack. They are hand in hand, a small circle lending their strength to her. The various weapons from the day's training lay abandoned around them serve to make me more uneasy. Not that she has need of weaponry, not if she were angry enough.

I hear him using the same quiet and hypnotic voice he uses to lure me to the dragon. I can recognize the prompts he is giving her. He is describing one of the very few clear memories she has.

"He is staring at you. He is angry and you are confused…"

Her eyes still closed, her head dips down; using her hair to shield her face as she takes on a look of shyness so accurate of her human self it steals my breath.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" so caught up in Elisabeth's vision Sharon has managed to sneak up on me.

"But I thought he was unable to affect her." I reply not taking my eyes off of Elisabeth.

"That is true, but this is something they have been working on for a while now. We believe the strongest memories one had lost in the change are never truly lost. Have you ever seen the brain of a vampire?" she asks so casually and again devoid of emotion, I fight the urge to take a step away.

"I cannot say I have."

"Well, it is also fascinating. Like many of the physical attributes we now posses, the brain is also altered and enhanced through the change. Humans have a great dependency on primitive autonomic actions and therefore great dependency on the hindbrain." She begins one of the random tangents I have grown to expect of the others.

"And this has what to do with her memories?" I practically snap, dragging my gaze from the clearing down to the girl.

She stares back with a look of annoyance, "The majority of a vampire brain is entirely restructured from its human origins. As you know, you no longer sleep or do primitive things such as breathing involuntarily." She begins, the look an open challenge, daring me to interrupt her again.

"In the hindbrain for example, through the change the medulla oblongata and pons are essentially rendered impotent. There is a great increase in available space and nerve signals for the cerebellum that controls movement and spinal cord which carries the tasking of movement to the body. This additional space and nerve signal is what is responsible for our greatly enhanced physical capabilities." She pauses, looking up to me with an all too innocent smile. "Do you need a diagram?" She asks and I have to bite my tongue to control my temper.

"I believe I can follow unaided." I manage mildly, my annoyance overshadowed with wariness. I really, really do not want to know how she knows these things.

She smiles widely at my discomfort. "As far as memory is concerned, the hippocampus is the main storage center of memory for both human and vampire alike. As the change occurs and the hippocampus is altered and enlarged extensively to accommodate our photographic memories, the damage is usually adequate to permanently destroy the majority of the existing hippocampus and therefore the human memories it contains. But, and this is the important part, so pay attention." She orders, noticing my attention had drifted back to the circle in the field.

"But, the amygdala is the area that stores and classifies emotionally charged memories and the physical responses tied to them. The amygdala is rendered mostly ineffectual during the change, as we no longer have need for the physical and stress hormonal responses such as racing heart or sweating that it produces. It shrinks as necessary to accommodate a larger hippocampus. But it still exists in our brains. It is a shadow of its former self, but it is still there."

A racing heart, sweating. And fear and bleeding I would assume. "The dragon," I mumble, my head snapping back to the field and Elisabeth. "He can access it."

"Indirectly, but yes," She replies. The pride is evident on her small face. "It is another reason the dreams are so realistic. By being able to access that very specific store of emotional memory and responses in the brain the dream is able to not only use the subconscious memory, but also the accompanying residual physical response the original event triggered."

"How" I demand, "How does he do it?"

"How do we manage any of our gifts?" She questions in return.

"Okay…but again, he is unable to affect her." My saving grace, the sole reason I am not dragging her away this second.

"There is no need."

"Are the cryptic answers meant to slowly drive me mad," I snap looking down to her. "Or is the need to be vague and mysterious an indulgence of age?"

"Perhaps a little of both?" She returns with a chuckle. "But in this case there truly is no need, she is simply being guided in an effort her to trigger the ability within her own mind."

My hands come up to rub my temples as I try to make some sense, any sense of this. "And that works?"

"So far? Not as much as she would have hoped. As I am sure you know by now, the most effective dreams are ones with a basis in solid memory."

"But I have never fought a dragon," I counter, unable to mask the bitterness, "and I assure you he is most effective."

"Obviously," she replies, rolling her eyes. "You are far too young for that."

The retort falls from my lips as I take her in. I pause and study her closely and can only shake my head. For some reason I truly don't believe she is kidding.

"But you have fought to the death, have you not? As you have been bleeding and sweating and panicked. That is what the dream is founded on, what is being suggested to you, not the dragon. It is simply standing in as the courier of those long stored emotional responses. It is exceptionally difficult for her. Not only is she essentially attempting to cast the dream on herself, she is trying to use the very small emotional response she can recall to release the cache of memory in the amygdala." She finishes with a sudden sadness and I turn to Elisabeth. She is still sitting on the ground, now turned towards the moon with the boy's hand on her shoulder. "It would appear to be insufficient yet again."

"Just give it time, puiut." The boy says down to her, barely having to lean down to kiss her on the head before turning to join Theresa, heading back towards the house.

"Multumesc," she mumbles without breaking her gaze on the moon.

The girl turns back to face me. "Who are you?" She asks, again devoid of emotion.

Looking down to her, I don't bother with a response. Lord knows the tangent she is off on now.

She takes me in for a moment, her gaze betraying her youthful appearance. "You are in a very precarious position patriot," She says finally. "The time is come for you to decide."

To my great surprise I am spared another long and strange conversation I can't follow. With one final glance to the clearing she turns and runs after the boy leaving me alone with my never ending confusion. I turn my attention to Elisabeth. Her back may be to me but there is no mistaking the set to her shoulders. She looks defeated and I feel the weight of her unhappiness in my chest. Again, the guilt overwhelms me. I wonder if this is what the girl was alluding to, the decision to be made. Yet despite the guilt, there is no decision. The defeated girl before me is a pale shadow of the ruined child she was. I have sworn to protect her and that is what I shall continue to do, even if I am only protecting her from herself. I debate leaving her to her thoughts, but know if the roles were reversed she would come to me. I approach slowly not wanting to startle her.

"Granted my Romanian leaves much to be desired," I say, lowing myself to the grass beside her. "But did you just thank him for calling you a chicken?"

"It isn't _that_ bad," she chuckles, still staring blankly towards the sky. "And you know it would be perfect if you bothered to put any effort into it at all. Besides, little chicken is an old term of endearment."

"Are you alright?" I ask, leaning into her bumping my shoulder to hers.

"I am…" She sighs as she leans over and lays her head on my shoulder. "I am…tired."

"Say the words and I'll grant your reprieve, somewhere warm and sunny, perhaps?"

"No." She says too quickly. "I can't leave, not yet." She sighs again, "I need to know who I am, Garrett."

I take her small hand in mine. "You know who you are. You are chasing the ghost of a girl you were for barely a moment."

"I am chasing nothing." She snaps, finally meeting my gaze. "I am only seeking to claim what is mine."

"And if you find things better left dead and buried?" I ask calmly, not letting her tone bait me.

"That is a chance I must take." She settles back into my shoulder.

"Is it?" I lean down and tip her chin up to face me. "And if I were to tell you that you will surely find things much better left dead and buried?"

"You couldn't possibly know that, you don't even know who…" She jumps to her knees and pulls me forward. "Do you know him? Have you known him? Why would you… Oh god, oh god is he dead? Is that why you would never… Is he? Is he?" She is shaking me by the collar so hard I am surprised my shirt hasn't given in to the abuse. "Answer me!"

"I know that when I had found you, you were begging for death." I sidestep the question fairly easily given how well practiced I am by now. "You begged me to kill you, Elisabeth. You begged for death rather than spend one moment more as that girl you are so desperate to reclaim. So if you are choosing not to trust me, can you at least trust enough in yourself to believe there are things you do not want to remember? "

"I deserve to know my past." She says after a pause, settling herself back down on the ground. She laces the grass between her fingers. "It may be ugly and painful," she says not looking up, "but it is mine to claim."

"But you do not understand what you are asking for." My tone pleads for me. How can I possibly illustrate what this knowledge will do to her? Yet I know her stubbornness knows no boundaries and if she is that committed to walk this path there will be no stopping her.

"I will not stand here and watch you fall apart again, Elisabeth. You were suffering so badly, love. I made that choice all those years ago that I would not stand by and watch you suffer so if there was something I could do to save you. I will not stand here and watch you throw that away. I may not have the right to disallow it, but I do not have to see this."

I rise to my feet and turn back towards the house when she catches me by the hand. She looks up and despite her unnatural beauty, her age and our familiarity I can still see the scarred little girl in her eyes.

"Do you love me?" she asks.

"What sort of question is that?" I reply, feeling my temper spark. "Of course I love you. Whether you believe it or not, I have shielded you from every single thing I could out of my loyalty and love of you."

"I do believe that." She replies, pulling on my hand again until I sink back down beside her. "But if you really love me Garrett, help me get them back."

"I couldn't do that even if wanted to." I admit, grateful for this one honesty. "For all of your talents combined you and your tutors cannot even begin to do that."

"But you have what we do not..." She looks up at me, meeting my confused look with her puppy dog eyes, "You can give me yours…"

"Give you mine, my what now?"

"Give me your memory, Garrett." She says lacing her hand in mine. "Show me who I was then. It may be enough to see it through your eyes. Give me the prompts to take you back and I'll go with you. Take me to the day I asked you to kill me. Maybe that is all I am missing. Maybe that will finally be enough to bring it all back."

Despite my convictions it hurts to deny her anything. "I… I'm sorry Elisabeth. I can't do that."

A spark of fierceness lights in her eyes, "technically I don't have to ask."

Her response is so unexpected I am momentarily rendered speechless. Although the rational side of me truly believes her harsh threat is nothing more than bravado masking her frustration, I cannot suppress the outrage borne from her insolence.

"So that is what it comes down to?" My anger thinly reigned in my voice is quiet but filled with malice. "You would turn on me so easily? Have I not done everything for you? Do you know what I have sacrificed, for you? Out of my duty and loyalty and love, for you? Have I not stood by you every moment? Christ have I not been eaten by dragons for you! And you are threatening to go rummaging around in my head uninvited to satisfy this morbid curiosity?"

"For me? For me?" She shouts jumping to her feet the spark of fierceness becoming an inferno. "I am no longer a child! Do you think I am too innocent, too stupid to realize you use me as some sick substitute for your dead sister and Katie?" she bends down to my face, brandishing her finger and continuing to scream. "I am your repentance." She says with a snide. "I am the surrogate, someone you can pretend to care who doesn't have the power to tear you to pieces. You sacrifice and you stand by me so you feel like you are doing something worthwhile, so do not have to face the things you cannot accept."

"You think you do not have the power to destroy me?" I shout jumping to my own feet, adopting both her tone and posture. "You question my loyalty, my devotion? You know nothing of how deeply my devotion to you runs!"

A cruel laugh pours from her lips. "It is you who needs to learn the depth of your devotion! Tell me Garrett, two weeks with Kate and did you once have any sort of meaningful conversation? Did you tell her you love her? Did you even ask her on a date for god's sakes? Don't you dare keep my life from me because you are desperate to shield yourself from your own!"

"Do you not realize the gift this is?" I counter, the passion born from a jealousy I hadn't even realized I harbored. "You are so focused on that stupid boy; you are willing to sacrifice everything for a shred of him! You are ready to ruin yourself, all we have built for a shadow. You are willing to lose your sanity to someone you don't remember. You are so focused on him that you cannot appreciate the things you do not have to live with!

"Do you think I would not sacrifice my memories if I could? You want to come into my mind, Elisabeth? You want to see war and the things I cannot forget? You want to 'remember' the screaming and the begging and the bleeding? Do you need to feel the panic and the sickness and the hopelessness, and opening your eyes on a new dawn and thinking that today will be the day you die? You want to look out on the broken bodies of the men you have killed? Good and honest, family loving, god fearing men whose only crime was wearing a red coat? You want to remember them and the look in their eyes when they realized today was their day? You want to feel that unrelenting ache knowing everyone you ever loved; your only family and know they are now nothing but dust in the earth forever beyond your reach? You want your regrets, every word left unsaid burned forever in your mind?"

I trail off as I come back to myself as the rage fades and take a step back from her. The fire in her eyes is long gone and the pity I see there is revolting. I am disgusted with myself for anger and my confessions. For all our years together I have never before lost my composure this way. I cross my arms, an unintentional gesture of closing myself off to her and turn back towards the field. The moon is low and full, this land unspoiled, the air as clean and true as these places and times buried in my memories. Why would she sacrifice this perfect innocence?

"These are the things I live with." I whisper, not turning back to her. "Four centuries Elisabeth and nothing but the promise of an eternity in front of me… I am haunted by things I can never, will never forget.

I forced you into this life Elisabeth. I alone cursed you for eternity. Let me spare you now. Let me love you that much."

"I'm sorry," she sighs.

"I don't want your pity Elisabeth." I say, turning and taking her hands in mine. "I just need you to think of the implications of what you are trying to do here. This is Pandora's Box you are attempting to open."

"I know…" she begins before I cut her off.

"But you don't…"

"I do, Garrett. I get it." She snaps pulling her hands from mine. "But that is a chance I have to take. I need to know. Things are different now, I am different now. Maybe I can see those things and move on. And I won't have to wonder."

I turn away from her and rub my temples. This is my precarious position. This is the decision to be made. Who am I? Am I Amun? Am I her keeper, her master who will decide her actions? Or am I her champion, the man protecting her from the things that will hurt her? And who am I if either leads down the same path?

"Will you help me?"

Will I? Will I help her reclaim the things I have tried so hard to bury? And what becomes of the sacrifices made to this end? What matters more, her free will or her happiness? Can she ever truly be happy with these things, this ghost hanging over her head? Do I love her enough to spare her or do I love her enough to give her the things she wants so desperately?

"You are awfully stubborn" I say without turning back.

"I learn from the best." She says coming to stand beside me.

I reach down and take her hand in mine. "I need you to promise me something, "I say still not facing her.

"Anything," she replies too quickly.

I finally turn to face her. I close my eyes and bring my forehead down to hers barely believing what I am planning to do. "I need you to remember that however misguided, I have never had anything but the best of intentions towards you. I have loved you and however wrong I may have been, I only tried to do what I thought was best for you."

"What have you done?" She asks quietly, pulling her head from mine.

"Just promise me." I say pulling her into what may be the last hug we ever share. I take a breath and grab tightly to the truth. It may be a different sort of love, but is she not worth anything, everything I have to give?

"Promise me and I will take you back."

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A few notes:

Garrett's reference to Kate in a red dress is based on a revolutionary war era custom of brides wearing red dresses instead of white as a tribute to the patriots. (Which is weird when you think about it considering the Brits wore red coats but whatever.)

All of the brain stuff is as accurate as a few nights of casual internet research allows so apologies for any inaccuracies.


End file.
